University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 

PHILA  ROGERS  &  LINDA  COSKI 
in  memory  of  their  father 
HAROLD  WILLOUGHBY 


VARIED   TYPES 


This  Edition,  printed  by  the  Town  Talk  Press,  is 
limited  to  Seventy-five  Copies,  signed  by  the  Author, 
of  which  this  is 


VARIED   TYPES 

BY 

EDWARD    F.  O'DAY 


TOWN  TALK  PRESS 

SAN    FRANCISCO 

1  915 


FOREWORD 


IT  HAPPENS  sometimes  that  the  notes  of  a  conversation  supply  the  student 
of  an  epoch  or  condition  with  certain  valuable  material  for  which  he  might 
look  in  vain  among  more  formal  records.     What  is  on  the  tip  of  a  man's 
tongue  may  not  infrequently  be  more  interesting  than  his  carefully  considered 
utterances.     There  are  times   when  the   interviewer  succeeds  in   interpreting  a 
man's  thoughts  more  accurately  than  that  man,  with  pen  in  hand,  could  himself 
interpret  them.     All  of  the  following  articles  were  based  on  personal  interviews. 
They  are  selected  from  a  series  of  sketches  which  were  contributed  to  the  pages 
of  Town  Talk  during  the  past  four  years  and  a  half.     Their  preservation  was 
suggested  by  the  thought  that  they  might  possess  a  more  than  ephemeral  interest. 


Page 

FOREWORD 7 

DR.  ALBERT  ABRAMS ...  15 

GERTRUDE  ATHERTON 21 

THEODORE  BELL 25 

JOHN  A.  BRITTON 30 

RICHARD  BURKE 35 

VINCENT  K.  BUTLER 40 

GIUSEPPE  CADENASSO 45 

JAMES  W.  COFFROTH 50 

FRANK  DAROUX 56 

CHARLES  DE  YOUNG 62 

M.  H.  DE  YOUNG 67 

FRANK  C.  DREW 73 

DENNIS    M.    DUFFY 78 

MILTON   H.   ESBERG 83 

LA  LOIE  FULLER 88 

A.  P.  GIANINNI 93 

JACOB  J.  GOTTLOB 98 

EDWARD  M.   GREENWAY          .........  104 

JAMES  K.  HACKETT 110 

HENRY  HADLEY 115 

LEWIS  E.  HANCHETT 120 

CHARLES  F.  HANLON 123 

BISHOP  EDWARD  J.  HANNA 128 

RICHARD   HOTALING 133 

JOHN  E.  HOYLE 138 

JOHN   P.   IRISH 143 

GROVE    L.    JOHNSON 148 

JOHN  M.  KEITH 153 

GEORGE  A.   KNIGHT 158 

ANDREW    M.    LAWRENCE 163 

JESSE  W.  LILIENTHAL 171 

P.  H.  MCCARTHY 177 

GAVIN   McNAB  182 


CONTENTS 


JOHN  L.  McNAB 
JOAQUIN    MILLER     . 
CHARLES    C.    MOORE 
RICHARD  E.  MULCAHY     . 
THORNWELL  MULLALLY  . 
THOMAS  M.  O'CONNOR    . 
MRS.  KATHARINE  D.  OSBOURNE 
CHARLES    ROLLO    PETERS 
WILLIAM   A.    PINKERTON 
GEORGE  H.  PIPPY     . 
WILLIS   POLK  .... 
A.  M.  ROBERTSON    . 
RENNIE  P.  SCHWERIN 
JOSEPH  SCOTT    . 
DR.  GEORGE  FRANKLIN  SHIELS 
FRANK  SHORT 
SAMUEL    M.    SHORTRIDGE 
GEORGE  STERLING     . 
MRS.    GAILLARD    STONEY 
AGNES  TOBIN  .... 
RICHARD  M.  TOBIN 
RICHARD  WALTON  TULLY 
JAMES  T.  TURNER    . 
RAPHAEL  WEILL 
GEORGE  X.  WENDLING    . 
D.  A.  WHITE    .... 
MRS.  LOVELL  WHITE 
JAMES  WOODS  .... 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Facing 
Page 

DR.   ALBERT  ABRAMS ...  16 

THEODORE  BELL 26 

JOHN    A.    BRITTON          ....                         ....  30 

RICHARD    BURKE ....  36 

VINCENT  K.  BUTLER ....  46 

GIUSEPPE  CADENASSO 46 

JAMES  W.  COFFROTH 50 

FRANK    DAROUX 56 

CHARLES  DE  YOUNG 62 

M.  H.  DE  YOUNG 68 

FRANK  C.  DREW 74 

DENNIS  M.  DUFFY 78 

MILTON    H.    ESBERG ....  84 

LA  LOIE  FULLER 88 

A.  P.  GIANINNI 94 

JACOB  J.  GOTTLOB 98 

EDWARD  M.  GREENWAY 104 

JAMES    K.    HACKETT 110 

HENRY  HADLEY 116 

CHARLES  F.  HANLON .  124 

BISHOP  EDWARD  J.  HANNA 128 

RICHARD   HOTALING 134 

JOHN  E.  HOYLE 138 

JOHN  P.  IRISH 144 

GROVE   L.   JOHNSON         ....                148 

JOHN  M.  KEITH 154 

GEORGE   A.    KNIGHT 158 

ANDREW    M.    LAWRENCE 164 

JESSE  W.  LILIENTHAL 172 

P.  H.  MCCARTHY 178 

GAVIN    McNAB 182 

JOHN  L.  McNAB 188 

JOAQUIN   MILLER 192 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing 
Page 

CHARLES  C.  MOORE 198 

RICHARD  E.  MULCAHY 204 

THORNWELL  MULLALLY 210 

THOMAS  M.  O'CONNOR 214 

MRS.  KATHARINE  D.  OSBOURNE 220 

CHARLES    ROLLO    PETERS 226 

WILLIAM   A.    PINKERTON 230 

GEORGE  H.  PIPPY 236 

WILLIS  POLK 242 

A.  M.  ROBERTSON 248 

RENNIE  P.  SCHWERIN 254 

JOSEPH   SCOTT 260 

DR.  GEORGE  FRANKLIN  SHIELS 264 

FRANK  SHORT 270 

SAMUEL  M.  SHORTRIDGE  ..........  274 

MRS.  GAILLARD  STONEY 282 

RICHARD    M.   TOBIN 290 

RICHARD  WALTON  TULLY 296 

JAMES  T.  TURNER 300 

RAPHAEL  WEILL 306 

GEORGE  X.  WENDLING 310 

D.  A.  WHITE 316 

MRS.  LOVELL  WHITE 320 

JAMES  WOODS 326 


VARIED   TYPES 


DR.  ALBERT  ABRAMS 


O  YOU  ever  feel  the  thrill  of  life?"  asked  "Reflex"  Abrams, 
taking  the  interview  into  his  own  hands. 

I  was  properly  noncommittal.  What  right  had  he  to 
interview  me?  Besides,  I  did  not  feel  altogether  comfortable. 
There  are  doctors  who  give  one  an  uneasy  feeling.  They 
seem  to  be  forever  diagnosing  your  symptoms.  Their  eyes 
look  through  and  through  you  like  X-rays.  Their  fingers 
seem  to  be  itching  for  your  pulse.  You  feel  that  if  they  only 
half  tried  they  could  convict  you  of  all  the  ills  in  the  materia  medica.  You 
cease  to  be  a  man ;  you  are  merely  a  case  while  you  stay  in  their  company. 

Dr.  Albert  Abrams,  "Reflex"  Abrams  as  his  brothers  of  the  profession 
call  him,  affects  you  like  that  at  first.  There  is  something  mephistophelian 
about  his  countenance.  You  can  well  imagine  him  chortling  over  the 
weaknesses  of  mankind,  even  as  Mephistopheles  chortled  over  the  foolish- 
ness of  Faust.  His  keen  blue  eyes  are  a  little  glassy,  perhaps  from  too 
much  peering,  but  they  penetrate  like  poniards  to  the  vital  places. 

I  had  heard  so  much  about  Doctor  Abrams  that  I  was  eager  to  meet 
him.  Other  physicians  had  spoken  in  terms  of  high  admiration  of  his 
medical  treatises.  Patients  had  told  me  of  his  wonderful  treatments,  his 
almost  miraculous  cures.  It  had  come  to  my  ears  that  a  visit  to  Abrams  was 
as  good  as  a  visit  to  Nauheim  for  the  heart-stricken  and  the  nerve-shattered. 
Assuredly,  I  thought,  if  this  man  works  the  good  that  Nauheim  does  to 
American  hearts  and  American  nerves,  the  most  erratic  hearts  and  nerves 
in  the  world,  he  is  worth  knowing.  I  was  high-keyed  when  I  met  him. 

From  the  moment  that  I  entered  Dr.  Abrams'  office  I  realized  that  I 
was  under  inspection.  His  minute  scrutiny  covered  me  from  heel  to  crown. 
When  he  held  a  light  to  my  cigar  it  was  as  though  he  was  lifting  a  lantern 
to  my  soul.  And  so,  when  Dr.  Abrams  took  the  interview  into  his  own  hands, 
I  was  careful  not  to  commit  myself.  Let  him  discover  my  symptoms  for  him- 
self; decidedly  I  should  not  confess  them. 

"It  is  rarely  indeed  that  I  feel  the  joy  of  living,"  said  Dr.  Abrams  when 
I  had  sidestepped  his  question.  "The  thrill  only  comes  when  I  have 
discovered  something.  I  feel  like  the  philosopher  who  shouted  'Eureka!' 

"Who  was  it,  by  the  way,  that  shouted  'Eureka'?"  he  continued  eyeing 
me  steadily.  "Ah  yes,  Archimedes  of  Syracuse.  Of  course.  I  remember 
now  that  I  have  seen  his  statue  there,  a  modern  statue  of  course.  There  he 
is  in  marble,  a  noble  figure  of  a  man,  looking  out  to  sea,  with  his  burning 
glass  and  lever  and  his  books  about  him.  Near  that  statue,  by  the  way, 
there  is  a  morass  where  papyri  grow.  It  is  supposed  that  in  ancient  times 
paper  was  made  from  the  papyri  in  that  morass.  By  Jove,  it  strikes  me  that 
when  I  was  in  Syracuse  I  bought  a  papyrus  there.  Perhaps  I  can  find  it." 

15 


VARIED    TYPES 

Rising  as  tumultuously  as  he  talked,  Dr.  Ab'rams  darted  into  the  adjoin- 
ing room  in  quest  of  the  papyrus.  I  looked  about  me.  Certainly  I  had  never 
seen  such  a  doctor's  office  before.  It  looked  more  like  the  study  of  a 
dilettante.  The  furniture  fashions  of  all  ages  seemed  to  be  represented  there 
in  the  desk,  the  bookcases,  the  tables,  the  chairs,  the  cabinets.  Just  a  detail 
to  suggest  the  bizarre  treatment :  the  telephone  was  dressed  in  flowered  silk, 
the  push  button  was  mother-of-pearl  set  in  onyx.  While  I  was  invoicing  the 
furniture  Dr.  Abrams  darted  back  with  the  papyrus  which  we  admired 
together. 

The  excursion  to  Syracuse  had  the  effect  of  setting  me  more  at  my  ease. 
I  began  not  to  fear,  when  suddenly  all  my  trepidation  returned,  for  the  doctor 
was  saying: 

"Yes,  I  am  happy  only  when  I  am  discovering  something  new  in  the 
human  body.  Sometimes,  in  fact,  I  am  almost  afraid  to  examine  a  patient, 
for  fear  of  finding  something  new." 

I  wonder  if  I  shuddered?  I  really  felt  like  a  Pandora's  box  full  of 
physiological  ills  that  the  doctor  might  unlock  at  the  least  provocation.  What 
did  I  say?  I  have  forgotten,  but  probably  something  about  the  heart  (mine 
was  beating  fast)  or  about  the  spine  (mine  was  a  skating  rink  for  cold 
shivers).  At  any  rate  the  doctor  went  off  on  a  tangent.  He  rushed  into  a 
discourse  on  spondylotherapy. 

Never  heard  of  spondylotherapy?  Neither  had  I.  Hadn't  the  remotest 
notion  what  it  was,  so  I  asked.  I  learned  that  it  was  the  application  of 
physical  methods  to  the  spinal  region  in  the  cure  of  disease.  I  found  too 
that  Dr.  Abrams  had  written  a  book  on  the  subject. 

"It  has  been  said,"  the  doctor  remarked,  "that  I  have  taken  the  most 
radical  stand  in  the  treatment  of  spinal  diseases,  and  perhaps  that's  true. 
What  the  physiologist  does  in  the  laboratory  I  apply  to  the  living  subject.  I 
was  a  pioneer  in  this  part  of  the  world  with  the  X-ray,  and  sixteen  years  ago 
I  gave  out  my  heart  reflex.  I  found  that  it  was  possible  to  contract  and; 
dilate  the  heart  by  physical  means.  That  discovery  is  the  basis  of  the  modern 
treatment  of  heart  diseases. 

"I  can  make  the  heart  stop  beating.     Would  you  like  to  see  it  done?" 

He  offered  me  his  pulse.  Much  preferring  that  I  should  take  his  than  that 
he  should  take  mine,  I  placed  my  finger  on  it.  Then  with  his  left  hand  the 
doctor  applied  pressure  to  the  back  of  his  neck,  pressing  there  till  his  face 
was  livid.  The  pulse  stopped  beating.  There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it. 
For  a  moment  the  doctor's  heart  had  not  been  pumping.  He  released  the 
pressure  and  smiled.  When  the  pulse  resumed  its  orderly  beat  I  smiled  too. 

"The  simplicity  of  my  method  marks  its  importance,"  the  doctor  resumed. 
"When  you  strike  the  cuticle  in  certain  spots  the  spinal  cord  contracts. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it. 

"You  know  what  aneurism  is.  It  is  a  disease  in  which  the  patient  chokes 
to  death.  It  has  always  been  regarded  as  incurable.  But  I  have  studied  the 
contraction  and  dilation  of  the  aorta  with  the  result  that  I  have  discovered 
how  to  cure  aneurism.  In  the  British  Medical  Journal  and  La  Presse  Medicale 
I  have  reported  forty  cases  cured. 

16 


DR.    ALBERT    ABRAMS 


DR.     ALBERT     ABRAMS 

"Tell  the  average  physician  that  you  can  cure  aneurism  and  he  will 
laugh  at  you.  Arterial  sclerosis  is  amenable  to  the  same  treatment. 

"I  sent  the  report  of  some  of  my  aneurism  cases  to  a  German  medical 
journal,  but  the  editor  refused  to  publish  them.  He  wrote  me  that  tradition 
had  established  the  fact  that  aneurism  was  incurable,  hence  he  couldn't 
stultify  himself  by  reporting  my  cures." 

I  thought  of  what  Moliere  had  written :  "The  authorities  exact  an  oath 
from  medical  candidates  never  to  alter  the  practice  of  physic."  Also  of 
Joseph  Skoda's  pessimistic  dictum  :  "We  can  diagnose  disease,  describe  it, 
and  get  a  grasp  of  it,  but  we  dare  not  by  any  means  expect  to  cure  it." 

Spondylotherapy  began  to  assume,  in  my  lay  mind,  its  due  importance. 

"More  than  one  in  every  hundred  die  from  aneurism,"  the  doctor 
continued.  "It  is  a  disease  particularly  common  in  California.  It  is  found 
among  those  who  are  subjected  to  strains  and  excesses.  One  might  say  that 
it  comes  from  excesses  at  the  shrines  of  Bacchus,  Vulcan  and  Venus." 

So  the  ironworker  and  the  roue  are  alike  in  need  of  spondylotherapy. 
Undoubtedly  there  are  many  ironworkers  and  many  roues  in  California 
where  aneurism  is  prevalent. 

"It  is  the  tendency  of  modern  medicine,"  the  doctor  went  on,  "to  do 
away  as  much  as  possible  with  the  use  of  drugs.  Physiological  therapeutics 
is  advancing.  Physicians  may  laugh  at  osteopathy,  but  while  the  theory  of 
osteopathy  is  wrong,  the  results  are  frequently  good.  The  osteopathist  works 
on  the  theory  that  disease  is  due  to  displaced  vertebrae.  In  his  treatment  he 
unconsciously  gets  certain  reflexes,  and  cures.  Without  knowing  it  he  is 
practicing  spondylotherapy. 

"The  heart  reflex  is  obtained  unconsciously  in  many  ways,  for  instance 
by  the  irritation  of  the  skin  with  a  towel.  The  carbonic  acid  baths  of 
Nauheim  act  by  producing  the  heart  reflex.  Our  Vichy  baths  near  Ukiah  do 
the  same.  They  are  in  reality  better  than  the  baths  at  Nauheim.  But  the 
patient  at  Nauheim  helps  his  own  cure  by  mental  suggestion.  He  is  away 
from  his  business  worries ;  he  relaxes.  Part  of  the  benefit  of  Nauheim  comes 
from  the  big  playground  of  Europe  which  is  in  back  of  it." 

The  doctor  told  me  other  things  about  spondylotherapy,  very  interesting 
things,  but  I  am  afraid  to  attempt  to  quote  them.  He  talks  fast,  and  one 
who  is  not  at  home  with  medical  terms  can  hardly  keep  up  with  him.  In  the 
midst  of  our  conversation  the  nurse  announced  Dr.  Soandso. 

"Would  you  like  to  meet  Dr.  Soandso?"  he  asked  me.  "He  came  from 
El  Paso  to  take  my  treatment  for  aneurism.  He  is  about  cured." 

I  followed  Dr.  Abrams  into  another  room,  a  very  different  room.  The 
walls  were  bare  but  for  heavy  pipes  that  elbowed  this  way  and  that.  There 
was  no  furniture  but  surgical  apparatus.  It  looked  like  a  medieval  torture 
chamber.  It  was  the  workshop  of  a  beneficent  healer. 

The  doctor  from  El  Paso  was  past  eighty,  a  venerable  bearded  man 
with  kindly  eyes.  He  told  me  that  he  couldn't  articulate  when  he  reached 
this  city ;  that  he  was  expected  to  die  any  day.  He  spoke  distinctly,  almost 
vigorously.  He  told  the  younger  physician  that  he  was  cured,  that  he  was 
going  home.  I'll  bet  he  spreads  the  gospel  of  spondylotherapy. 

19 


VARIED    TYPES 

"What  other  books  have  you  written  besides  that  on  spondylotherapy?" 
I  asked  Dr.  Abrams  when  we  were  back  in  the  room  with  the  flowered  silk 
telephone  and  the  mother-of-pearl  push  button. 

"There  are  a  dozen  or  so,"  he  answered.  "There's  one  on  splanchnic 
neurasthenia." 

"On  what?" 

"What  you  would  call  the  blues,"  he  explained.  "That  book  has  been 
very  popular  with  the  profession.  It  has  gone  through  four  editions. 

"But  I  hope  I  have  finished  writing.  I  am  engaged  on  a  third  edition  of 
'Spondylotherapy.'  When  that  is  done  I  shall  devote  my  life  to  the  develop- 
ment of  my  method,  but  I  don't  think  I  shall  write  any  more." 

I  expressed  my  doubt  about  the  strength  of  that  resolution.  And  the 
doctor  smiled.  It  was  a  smile  that  would  have  cured  my  splanchnic 
neurasthenia  if  I  had  been  so  afflicted.  I  found  that  I  was  not  nearly  as 
much  afraid  of  the  doctor  as  when  I  first  met  him.  I  could  almost  have  let 
him  feel  my  pulse — provided  he  didn't  find  something  novel  the  matter  with 
me  and  thereby  experience  his  rare  thrill  of  life. 


20 


GERTRUDE  ATHERTON 


«    r-r-i   *>e. 

T 

•>\  </•  .  _  ..      _  »v>  '<; 


'O  TALK  with  Gertrude  Atherton  at  any  time  is  to  receive 
a  powerful  intellectual  stimulation,  but  to  talk  with  her  when 
she  is  fresh  from  communion  with  her  European  friends  is 
to  share  the  newest  impressions  fixed  in  a  lively  brain  by 
the  men  and  women  who  are  shaping  the  course  of  civiliza- 
tion. To  chat  with  Mrs.  Atherton  on  such  an  occasion  is  to 
open  one's  mind  to  sparkling  streams  of  literature,  art  and 
politics  which  are  flowing  straight  from  the  fountainhead. 
It  is  to  share  for  a  time  the  achievements,  the  purposes,  the  thoughts  and 
the  intimate  doings  of  the  great.  For  Mrs.  Atherton  has  a  reserved  seat  in 
the  grand  theatre  of  European  activities.  She  watches  the  play  with  its 
mixture  of  tragedy,  comedy  and  farce  at  close  range.  The  actors  lean  across 
the  footlights  to  speak  to  her,  some  of  them  to  explain  obscurities  in  the 
action,  others  to  impart  their  private  opinions  of  the  piece  and  of  its  author. 
And  she  is  admitted  behind  the  scenes,  so  that  she  knows  fustian  for  its 
cotton  value  and  can  distinguish  rouge  and  powder  from  the  healthy  bloom 
of  nature. 

This  is  particularly  the  case  when  Mrs.  Atherton  goes  to  London.  In 
London's  microcosm  of  fashion  as  in  its  various  circles  of  art  and  music 
and  politics  and  literature  she  has  an  assured  position.  She  is  insatiable  of 
impressions,  as  every  great  novelist  must  be,  and  more  readily  than  most  of 
those  who  belong  to  the  craft  she  is  granted  opportunities  of  studying  facts 
in  the  making.  Naturally,  when  she  returns  to  this  farthest  flung  outpost 
of  civilization  she  carries  with  her  a  thousand  items  that  would  never  reach 
us  by  post  or  cable. 

It  was  in  the  summer  of  1911  that  Gertrude  Atherton  granted  this 
interview.  The  tremendous  suffrage  agitation  convulsed  England  and  yet 
we  heard  of  it  only  when  a  suffragette  chained  herself  to  a  railing  or  slapped 
a  police  sergeant.  We  got  some  little  glimmer  of  its  significance  when  a 
Silvia  Pankhurst  stepped  off  the  Overland  Limited  for  a  lecture  or  two.  It 
remained  for  Mrs.  Atherton  to  impress  upon  us  the  deadly  seriousness  of 
those  English  women.  She  could  do  this  with  facility  because  she  was 
mightily  impressed  herself.  She  believed  in  them ;  more  than  that,  she 
believed  that  they  would  accomplish  their  purpose.  Later  she  was  alienated 
from  them  by  their  growing  ferocity. 

"Their  campaign,"  she  said,  "is  as  concentrated,  persistent,  intense  and 
fanatical  (using  the  term  as  it  has  been  applied  throughout  history  to  the 
initiators  of  all  great  reforms),  as  the  most  epoch-making  of  the  religious 
upheavals  which  sent  their  martyrs  to  the  stake. 

"These  women  will  shoot  and  kill,  if  necessary.  They  burn  with  a  sort 
of  holy  fire  and  if  they  were  hanged  they  would  die  like  martyrs. 

21 


VARIED     TYPES 

"They  are  a  large  concentrated  body  of  women,  brought  up  on  politics, 
oppressed  and  humiliated  by  laws  made  by  and  for  men,  and  driven  to 
revolt,  not  through  vanity,  nor  ennui,  not  only  from  a  desire  to  raise  the 
standard  of  health,  comfort  and  happiness  of  their  entire  sex,  but  from  a 
now  full  grown  self-respect — that  more  poised  and  noble  complement  of  the 
masculine  Ego  which,  not  unnaturally,  has  achieved  the  proportions  of  a 
malignant  tumor. 

"For,  mark  you,  these  women  are  the  daughters  of  men,  a  fact  which 
men  curiously  overlook.  Ever  since  the  wife  ceased  to  spend  her  days  with 
the  women  of  her  household,  weaving,  making  tapestry,  or  whatever  may 
have  been  her  poor  resource  between  feeding  and  reproduction,  and  has 
discussed  the  affairs  of  the  world  with  her  husband  at  breakfast  and  dinner, 
or  even  listened  to  him  hold  forth,  the  brains  of  her  offspring,  female  as  well 
as  male,  have  become  more  and  more  mentalized.  And,  as  in  this  era  of 
small  families,  the  days  do  not  grow  any  shorter,  and  all  women  are  not 
endowed  with  artistic  genius,  it  would  be  surprising  indeed  if  the  strong- 
brained  women  of  England  had  not  turned  their  thoughts  to  the  awakening 
and  advancement  of  their  sex.  Surprising  too  if  in  the  process  they  had  not 
developed  several  of  the  most  statesman-like  brains  in  Great  Britain  today. 

"The  New  York  papers  quoted  me  as  saying  that  Mrs.  Pankhnrst  had 
the  greatest  brain  in  the  world.  What  I  should  have  said,  had  I  spoken 
about  her,  was  that  she  possessed  a  statesman's  brain.  She  has  gotten  rid 
of  sex,  for  the  time  being  of  course — woman  never  loses  that.  She  is 
impersonal ;  her  body  is  toughened  and  hardened,  capable  of  great  resistance. 
If  she  were  made  prime  minister  she  would  fill  the  position  as  well  as  any 
man." 

Mrs.  Atherton  has  studied  at  first  hand  Mrs.  Pankhurst,  Mrs.  Pethick 
Lawrence,  and  their  lieutenants,  Mrs.  Haverfield,  Mrs.  F.  Cavendish-Bentinck, 
and  Mrs.  John  Hall.  She  takes  them  very  seriously  indeed.  This  is  the 
more  impressive  because  she  does  not  take  all  the  the  suffragettes  seriously. 
There  is  Lady  Cicely  Hamilton  for  instance.  Mrs.  Atherton  went  to  hear 
her  debate  the  great  question  with  Gilbert  Chesterton.  It  was  a  notable 
occasion.  Everybody  who  was  anybody  was  there,  including  the  Bernard 
Shaws.  Lady  Cicely  was  nervous  and  her  most  ardent  sympathizers  were 
mortified  by  the  spectacle  she  made  of  herself.  She  ranted  about  the  necessity 
of  woman  rising  superior  to  feminine  charm,  and  Chesterton  with  much 
urbanity  confessed  that  woman  might  rise  above  it  but  that  man  could  not. 

"Chesterton  is  a  great  thick  man  with  a  fat  head  covered  with  curls  and 
he  speaks  in  a  squeaky  voice,"  says  Mrs.  Atherton.  "Cicely  is  a  slab-sided 
sunken-in  creature  who  screeches.  For  all  the  world  they  looked  like  a 
eunuch  and  a  sterile  nymphomaniac." 

The  mention  of  Chesterton  carried  us  to  the  less  troublous  field  of 
literature. 

"There  are  no  great  writers  among  the  new  men,"  says  Mrs.  Atherton. 

"Literature  is  going  through  a  phase  of  splendid  cleverness.  There  is  so 
little  of  the  old-fashioned  quality  of  genius  in  England  that  when  men  of 
highly  specialized  cleverness  come  up  they  are  deified.  The  biggest  of  these 

22 


GERTRUDE    ATHERTON 

is  Arnold  Bennett.  There  is  also  John  Galsworthy.  As  to  H.  G.  Wells,  his 
latest  book  'The  New  Machiavelli,'  reads  like  a  work  of  a  confused  mind. 
The  hero  is  forty-two  at  the  beginning  of  the  story  and  twenty-nine  at  the 
end.  When  describing  his  wedding  he  refers  to  the  'fifteen  years  of  my 
married  life,'  and  in  the  next  chapter  gives  the  details  of  the  election  of  1906. 
Wells  must  write  in  a  hurry  and  probably  never  corrects.  He  changes  his 
mind  and  forgets  that  he  has  changed.  Chesterton's  cleverness  is  beginning 
to  tire  people.  As  for  Shaw,  people  say  that  his  latest  plays  are  inferior  to 
his  earlier  work.  But  what  does  it  matter?  Shaw  never  cared  for  anything 
but  Socialism.  He  is  the  most  humane,  the  sweetest,  the  loveliest,  the  most 
kindly  of  men.  Fie  is  living  for  humanity  and  writes  as  he  does  to  attract 
attention  and  so  make  his  position  more  powerful  for  his  great  work,  which 
is  Socialism. 

"And  yet  Shaw  doesn't  want  too  much  Socialism.  Some  time  ago  his  wife 
discharged  her  maid.  She  was  determined  to  do  her  own  work.  But  after 
a  little  Shaw  made  her  take  the  maid  back  again.  He  said  he  was  tired  of 
buttoning  her  up  the  back. 

"One  book  which  is  all  the  rage  in  London  is  the  'Winter  Queen'  of  my 
friend  Marie  Hay,  Baroness  Hindenberg.  It  is  read  everywhere.  It  is  one 
of  the  literary  sensations.  But  then  London  is  big  enough  to  have  five  or 
six  literary  sensations.  In  America  we  can  only  cultivate  one  idea  at  a  time. 

"The  older  men  like  Kipling  and  George  Moore  seem  to  be  doing  nothing. 
Perhaps  they  have  made  too  much  money,  eat  too  much  and  have  become 
lazy.  Otherwise  how  can  one  account  for  their  inactivity?  They  are  still 
comparatively  young  and  if  you  keep  yourself  well  by  obeying  the  laws  of 
nature  why  shouldn't  you  go  on  writing  till  you  are  eighty?  But  of  course 
one  can't  work  with  a  lot  of  undigested  food  on  the  stomach. 

"Poetry?  What  with  politics  and  suffrage,  it  seems  to  be  a  drug  on  the 
market.  You  never  hear  of  anybody  writing  poetry  except  Hardy  who  is 
still  working  on  'The  Dynasts'  but  I  never  heard  of  anybody  reading  it." 

As  to  her  own  work?  Mrs.  Atherton's  play  "Julia  France"  was  about 
to  be  put  in  rehearsal  by  Mrs.  Fiske  who  was  delighted  with  it.  It  deals  with 
the  woman's  movement. 

"In  a  fatal  moment,"  says  Mrs.  Atherton,  "I  told  my  publisher  that  the 
theme  was  too  big  for  a  mere  play,  that  it  embraced  the  whole  woman's 
movement  and  could  only  be  treated  properly  in  a  novel.  'You  must  write 
it/  he  said." 

So  Mrs.  Atherton  came  here  to  write  the  novel.  Having  written  the 
play  here  she  felt  that  she  could  only  do  justice  to  the  novel  in  the  same 
environment.  And  she  is  not  to  be  drawn  from  novel-writing  by  the  lure 
of  the  theatre. 

"The  novel,"  she  says,  "is  the  aristocrat  of  fiction.  It  is  yours  alone. 
You  may  write  at  the  North  Pole  if  you  please.  When  you  have  corrected 
your  proofs  there's  an  end  of  it.  But  with  a  play,  it  is  different.  You  must 
accept  suggestion  after  suggestion,  you  must  write  and  rewrite.  And  yet, 
after  all  the  suggested  changes,  your  own  idea  remains.  And  with  a  play  as 
with  a  short  story  there  are  so  many  things  to  think  of — with  a  play,  your 

23 


VARIED    TYPES 

manager  and  his  public.  And  then,  so  many  plays  would  be  utterly  worth- 
less if  they  were  not  well  acted.  But  even  a  poor  novel  must  stand  on  its 
own  feet.  You  can  teach  yourself  to  write  a  play  or  a  short  story.  When  I 
started  on  my  play  my  publisher  said,  'Another  novelist  lost,'  but  I  shall 
always  prefer  novel  writing.  It's  a  bigger  thing.  I  can't  imagine  my  wanting 
to  write  another  play." 

Certainly  there  is  every  reason  why  Mrs.  Atherton  should  feel  that  way. 
Her  novels  have  brought  her  international  renown.  They  have  been  trans- 
lated into  French,  German,  Italian  and  Norwegian.  "A  Daughter  of  the 
Vine"  was  just  then  the  feuilleton  of  Figaro  in  Paris.  "Tower  of  Ivory"  is 
still  selling  steadily  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  Her  other  books  are 
being  continually  republished. 

It  is  a  proud  eminence  which  this  Californian  has  achieved.  And  she  has 
achieved  it  despite  the  obstacles  v/hich  lay  in  her  path.  "The  West  doesn't 
count,"  said  Pierpont  Morgan  contemptuously  and  that  was  the  prevalent 
feeling  when  Gertrude  Atherton  began  writing.  She  had  no  friends  in  the 
literary  cliques.  The  log-rolling  and  puffery  of  the  editors  and  critics  were 
not  for  her,  but  for  the  heralded  women  of  fashion  who  turned  to  novel- 
writing  and  bought  favor  with  dinners  and  lavish  entertainments. 

"But  I've  buried  them  all,"  says  Mrs.  Atherton  with  a  gay  and  smiling 
triumph  that  would  gall  certain  women  who  shall  be  nameless  here. 

I  asked  her  why  she  hadn't  stayed  in  London  for  the  coronation  of 
George  V.  She  threw  up  her  hands  in  horror  of  the  crowds  and  the  heat. 

"And  yet,  in  the  abstract,  it  was  worth  seeing,"  she  acknowledged.  "It 
was  a  great  pageant  and  it  will  revive  loyalty  for  a  time.  All  England  is 
disaffected.  It  has  been  seething  with  discontent  for  years.  The  coronation 
will  make  people  forget  for  a  time.  But  of  course  it  will  be  the  last." 

I  looked  my  amazement. 

"I  don't  suppose  there  will  ever  be  another  coronation,"  Mrs.  Atherton 
explained.  "You  have  no  idea  how  strong  Socialism  is.  See,  I  have  brought 
the  whole  Fabian  library  home  with  me." 

Mrs.  Atherton  indicated  a  formidable  collection.  I  hope  she  will  not 
take  the  tracts  too  seriously.  If  she  does  we  may  have  to  echo  the  words 
of  her  publisher,  "Another  novelist  lost." 


24 


THEODORE  BELL 


POLITICIAN  without  a  gift  for  picturesque  expression 
would  be  at  a  sorry  disadvantage.  He'd  be  like  a  prize 
fighter  with  a  broken  arm  and  the  lockjaw.  He  simply 
couldn't  fight,  for  in  politics  fighting  is  largely  talking  about 
the  other  fellow. 

In  California  the  political  art  of  talking  about  the  other 
fellow  has  been  brought  to  a  high  state  of  cultivation  in  the 
Democratic  party  by  Gavin  McNab.  McNab  talks  in 
epigrams,  which  is  the  way  every  politician  would  talk  if  he  could.  A  lot  of 
McNab's  epigrams  have  been  barbed  for  the  pricking  of  Theodore  Bell. 
Being  a  handy  fighter  himself  Bell  has  always  retaliated.  Not  with  epigrams, 
however.  He  is  young  yet,  and  hasn't  mastered  that  form  of  wit.  His  words, 
just  the  same,  have  a  picturesque  quality  that  makes  them  worth  quoting. 

Bell  is  never  long  out  of  a  fight.  Most  of  his  political  career  he  has 
been  fighting  Gavin  McNab  within  the  party  and  the  Republican  machine 
without.  A  few  years  ago  he  took  the  control  of  the  State  Democratic 
organization  away  from  McNab,  but  that  didn't  end  their  fight,  of  course;  it 
merely  intensified  their  political  bitterness.  Fighting  right  along  from  one 
battlefield  to  another  Bell  finally  found  himself  at  Baltimore  fighting,  and 
fighting  well,  for  Champ  Clark.  It  became  necessary  in  the  course  of  that 
remarkable  battle  that  Bell  should  repudiate  his  old  leader  Bill  Bryan,  the 
Peter  Pan  of  Democracy,  and  he  did  it  with  thoroughness  and  despatch. 

When  that  fight  was  over  and  Woodrow  Wilson  had  been  nominated, 
Bell  came  home  to  find  the  ranks  of  his  enemies  swelled  by  a  number  of  his 
old-time  friends.  'Tis  the  way  of  politics,  and  Bell  accepted  the  situation. 
Some  men  in  the  new  alignment  of  the  opposition  said  they  couldn't  stand 
for  a  Clark  man  pretending  to  run  the  Wilson  campaign  in  California.  Others 
wept  crocodile  tears  over  Bell's  treatment  of  Bill  Bryan.  And  from  outside 
the  Democratic  party  appeared  a  Woodrow  Wilson  man  who  asseverated 
that  Bell  was  a  tool  of  the  wicked  special  interests. 

What  animated  the  Phelans,  the  Caminettis,  the  Davises,  the  Van 
Wycks,  the  Moosers  and  others  in  their  opposition?  I  asked  Bell  about  it. 

Bell  replied  without  hesitating.  He  laid  it  all  to  the  machinations  of  that 
grand  machinator,  Gavin  McNab. 

"As  soon  as  Governor  Wilson  was  nominated,"  he  told  me,  "a  few  men 
who  had  been  prominent  in  the  Wilson  primary  fight  got  together  and  re- 
solved to  take  over  the  Democracy  of  California  body,  boots  and  breeches. 

"This  sudden  stir  among  the  Wilson  men  caught  the  keen  eye  of  the 
McNab  organization  in  San  Francisco  and  they  believed  that  it  afforded  them 
a  good  opportunity  to  renew  their  own  efforts  to  obtain  control  of  the  party. 

"So  they  very  shrewdly  encouraged  the  ambition  of  the  Wilson  men 

25 


VARIED    TYPES 

in  their  project,  with  the  result  that  we  find  a  coalition  between  forces  that, 
on  the  surface,  have  seemed  irreconcilable.  The  Wilson  men  who  are  so 
desperately  attacking  the  State  Central  Committee  are  being  very  ingeniously 
used  by  the  McNab  faction." 

"Will  this  project  go  through?" 

"I  think  not.  These  Wilson  men  have  forgotten  how  to  think,  besides 
entirely  losing  sight  of  Governor  Wilson  in  their  mad  attempt  to  oust  the 
Clark  men  from  party  management.  Take  the  figures.  In  the  May  primaries 
Clark  received  43,000  votes.  Wilson  got  17,000.  Personally  I  received 
52,000. 

"So  it's  pretty  hard  to  understand  the  mathematics  of  the  present 
miniature  insurrection  or  just  how  these  insurrectos  can  eliminate  those 
who  prevailed  at  the  primaries  three  to  one." 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do?" 

"To  support  the  officers  of  the  State  Central  Committee.  No  one  can 
betray  me  into  a  loss  of  temper  either.  We  are  sustained  by  the  vast 
majority  of  the  Democrats  of  California.  Those  who  are  recklessly  sowing 
the  seeds  of  discord  will  only  discredit  themselves  in  the  eyes  of  all  good 
Democrats  who  are  looking  forward  to  party  success." 

"They  say  you're  a  reactionary.     How  about  that?" 

"It's  amusing  to  listen  to  that  cry.  Behind  the  scenes  the  forces  that 
have  always  opposed  progressive  Democracy  in  this  State  are  cunningly 
directing  the  present  skirmish. 

"The  chairman  of  the  State  Central  Committee,  R.  H.  Dewitt,  has  very 
impartially  appointed  the  committees  to  conduct  the  campaign,  placing  it 
absolutely  in  the  hands  of  zealous  Wilson  men.  And  I'm  with  Dewitt. 
Could  we  do  that  and  be  reactionaries?" 

"What  got  your  old  friend  'Cam'  into  this  fight  against  you?" 

"Caminetti  is  the  innocent  victim  of  the  wiles  of  McNab  who  wants  to 
get  back  at  Bell;  of  Phelan,  our  dilettante  politician,  always  more  ornamental 
than  useful ;  and  of  J.  O.  Davis  who  nurtured  the  ambition  to  be  chairman 
of  the  State  Central  Committee." 

"Where  does  McNab  stand?" 

"McNab  has  never  expressed  a  preference,  but  all  his  henchmen  with 
few  exceptions  are  Wilson  men — mainly  for  the  reason  that  our  crowd  was  for 
Clark." 

"Are  they  sincere  in  resenting  your  attack  on  Bryan?" 

"I  shouldn't  call  it  an  attack.  My  opposition  to  Bryan  was  not  the 
substantial  cause  for  the  attacks  on  me.  It  was  merely  used  to  injure  me 
among  Bryan's  supporters. 

"The  whole  thing  is  this.  Six  or  seven  men  got  together  in  a  room 
and  worked  one  another  up  by  violent  talk.  When  they  were  surcharged 
with  mixed  emotions  of  ambition,  envy,  hatred  and  other  bad  feelings,  they 
rushed  out,  they  shouted  from  the  house  tops,  they  went  pell-mell  into  print 
and  gave  their  grievance  to  the  world." 

"To  whom  does  that  refer?" 

"To  such  men  as  Phelan,  Caminetti,  Davis.  Van  Wyck  and  Mooser." 

26 


THEODORE    BELL 


THEODORE    BELL 

"To  Rudolph  Spreckels  too?" 

"I  don't  know  why  Spreckels  attacked  me.  Perhaps  I  am  merely  the 
victim  of  his  newly  acquired  habit  of  writing  telegrams  and  letters.  It  was 
just  one  of  his  vagaries,  the  child  of  his  peculiar  mentality  that  has  only  in 
the  last  few  years  brought  him  to  the  place  where  he  would  register  and  vote. 
His  response  to  my  challenge  to  produce  facts  in  support  of  his  denunciatory 
telegram  wouldn't  do  credit  to  a  six-year-old  kid.  His  plea  was  simply  that 
I  did  it  because  I  did  it." 

"Spreckels  is  for  Wilson?" 

"He  has  said  so." 

"Will  he  contribute  to  the  Democratic  campaign?" 

"Frank  Drew  is  chairman  of  the  finance  committee  and  will  be  very  glad, 
I  believe,  to  receive  Rudolph's  mite." 

A  queer  game  politics!  The  only  game  in  the  world  that  brings  you 
more  enemies  the  longer,  the  more  successfully  you  play  it.  Bell  has  a  very 
respectable  assortment,  and  you  will  notice  that  he  keeps  them  in  a  good 
condition  of  irreconcilability  by  prodding  them.  I  actually  think  that  Bell 
would  droop  and  wither  if  McNab  insisted  on  becoming  his  friend.  Not  that 
there's  any  danger! 


29 


JOHN  A.  BRITTON 


AN  YOU  imagine  a  corporation  man  who  won't  talk  about 
the  merits  of  his  strike?  Can  you  accommodate  to  your 
sense  of  reality  the  picture  of  such  a  one  sitting  silent  behind 
his  fumed  oak  desk  in  his  perfectly  appointed  inner  office, 
sitting  there  with  a  seal  upon  the  lips  of  him,  the  while 
leaders  of  the  strikers  split  the  unoffending  empyrean  with 
vaporous  verbosity  and  deluge  the  newspapers  with  showers 
of  statements,  criminations,  appeals,  objurgations  and 
threats?  Can  you  see  him?  Do  you  think  he  exists?  In  the  whole  history 
of  strikes  has  there  been  such  a  man?  In  all  the  annals  of  sabotage  do  we 
find  his  name? 

I  pause  for  a  reply.  We  don't,  you  say  ?  Wrong  the  first  time !  We  do, 
most  assuredly  and  right  in  our  midst  we  do !  And  his  name  is  John  Britton. 
Let  us  leave  out  the  mister  without  awe,  for  he's  a  genial  man  who 
stands  on  ceremony  as  little  as  he  stands  on  conventions.  And  that  John 
Britton  stands  not  at  all  upon  conventions  having  to  do  with  strikes  we  may 
infer  from  his  conduct  of  the  strike  which  Pacific  Gas  and  Electric  had  upon 
its  hands  in  June,  1913,  when  this  was  written. 

San  Francisco,  it  may  be  stated  without  fear  of  successful  contradiction, 
is  a  connoisseur  of  strikes.  San  Francisco  knows  strikes  backwards,  forwards 
and  by  heart.  Some  people  even  think  that  San  Francisco  invented  strikes. 
That  is  an  exaggerated  notion,  but  it  remains  true  that  San  Francisco  has 
listed  strikes  among  its  principal  municipal  products  ever  since  there  has 
been  much  of  a  San  Francisco  to  speak  of.  Every  trade  and  at  least  one  of  the 
professions  has  gone  on  strike  in  San  Francisco  at  one  time  or  another.  There 
isn't  a  strike  angle  whose  sine,  cosine  and  tangent  aren't  known  to  the  strike 
experts  of  San  Francisco.  And  these  strike  experts  are  to  be  found  not 
merely  among  the  leaders  of  organized  labor  in  San  Francisco  but  also  among 
corporation  heads  and  other  large  employers  of  skilled  and  unskilled  working- 
men.  These  latter  men  learn  by  experience.  They  study  strikes  as  some 
of  us  study  box  scores  or  scarabs  or  menu  cards.  They  tabulate  strikes,  their 
causes,  their  results,  their  conduct  and  their  incidental  consequences.  They 
read  the  literature  of  strikes  and  the  characters  of  strikers  and  strike-breakers. 
The  obvious  corollary  is  that  there  is  not  one  of  them  who  doesn't  think  he 
could  handle  a  strike  better  than  any  other  man. 

It  is  to  be  presumed  that  John  Britton  did  a  bit  of  strike  studying  in  the 
years  of  his  connection  with  Pacific  Gas  and  Electric.  For  twenty-five  years 
Pacific  Gas  and  Electric  got  along  without  a  strike.  While  other  corporations 
were  having  it  out  with  their  men  Pacific  Gas  and  Electric  pursued  its  equable 
course,  extending  its  system,  selling  light  and  heat  and  juice  and  paying 
very  comfortable  dividends  to  its  fortunate  stockholders.  And  then  along 

30 


JOHN    A.     BRITTON 


JOHN     A.     BRITTON 

came  a  strike!  What  had  happened  to  all  the  others  happened  in  the 
appointed  time  to  Pacific  Gas  and  Electric.  And  John  Britton  was  on  the 
job  to  handle  the  strike  the  way  he  thought  best,  to  put  into  practice  the 
theories  he  had  been  outlining  in  his  own  mind  during  the  years  of  peace. 

What  was  the  first  rule  John  Britton  put  into  execution?  A  very  simple 
rule,  applicable  not  only  to  strike  situations  but  to  nearly  all  the  acute 
situations  that  arise  in  public  or  private  business.  "Keep  your  mouth  shut," 
said  John  Britton  to  himself.  And  such  is  the  discipline  that  John  Britton 
enforces  upon  his  subservient  organs  that  the  biddable  Britton  jaws  snapped 
shut  and  nary  a  word  issued  from  beneath  the  mustache  that  thatches  the 
Britton  upper  lip.  In  all  the  long  and  bloody  annals  of  San  Francisco  strikes 
I  know  of  no  such  heroic  restraint,  such  admirable  reticence. 

Particularly  worthy  of  panegyric  is  this  Britton  taciturnity  when  you 
know  what  a  good  talker  John  B'ritton  is.  Ever  hear  John  Britton  at  an 
Elks  memorial  service?  Ever  hearken  to  the  blarney  of  his  tongue  what  time 
the  biscuit  Tortoni  and  the  demitasse  come  in  and  the  wine-bearing  waiter 
tiptoes  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  toastmaster?  Then  you  have  sampled  the 
quality  of  the  Britton  verbiage;  you  know  that  John  is  eloquent;  you  don't 
have  to  be  told  that  John  has  a  way  of  wedding  word  to  word  in  a  bower  of 
talk  till  all  the  landscape  is  mellowed  in  the  soft  rich  effulgence  of  a 
deipnosophistic  honeymoon.  In  other  words,,  you  are  cognizant  that  when 
it  comes  to  stringing  sentences  like  pearls  John  Britton  is  there  with  all  the 
vocal  chords,  a  regular  Britton-on-the-spot ! 

Yet  when  it  comes  to  talking  strike  the  padlock  is  on  the  Britton  lips. 
Not  a  whisper  will  he  so  much  as  susurrate.  Not  a  monosyllable  gets  by. 
The  embargo  is  completely  effective.  There  isn't  a  chance  for  even  the 
fragment  of  a  sentence  to  steal  past  the  pearly  portals  of  his  teeth,  as  Homer 
used  to  say,  or  was  it  Virgil? 

Not  on  the  points  at  issue,  you  understand.  The  scrap  is  to  be  scrapped 
out  without  jawbone,  if  John  Britton  has  his  way,  and  he  usually  does.  He 
believes  in  the  Maxim  silencer  for  strike  talk;  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same 
thing,  he  positively  refuses  to  shoot  off  his  mouth.  Let  the  leaders  of  the 
strikers  have  their  little  say ;  John  Britton  is  on  a  retreat.  And  how  this  has 
puzzled  the  leaders  of  the  strikers !  They  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it. 
All  of  their  previous  foes  were  wonders  in  the  rendition  of  bazoo  solos. 
Perhaps  that's  why  organized  labor  won  so  many  strikes.  The  strikers  will 
have  to  win  this  strike  some  other  way,  if  they  win  at  all.  No  thoughtless 
utterance  of  John  Britton  will  help  them  win  it,  because  there  ain't  a-goin' 
to  be  no  utterance ! 

Nevertheless  I  managed  to  pry  the  Britton  lips  open  on  matters  not 
having  to  do  with  the  merits  or  conduct  of  the  strike.  John  Britton  turned 
the  key  and  unsnapped  the  padlock  to  emit  a  few  phrases  of  laudation. 

"On  the  first  day  of  this  strike,"  said  John  Britton  in  a  voice  that  was 
soft  and  smooth,  not  rusty  from  disuse  as  one  might  expect,  "sixteen  hundred 
men  walked  out  of  our  stations.  They  walked  out  all  over  our  territory,  and 
that  means  from  the  De  Sabla  Power  House  in  Butte  on  the  north  to  Fresno 
on  the  south  and  from  Grass  Valley  and  Nevada  City  on  the  east  to  San 

33 


VARIED    TYPES 

Francisco.  The  electrical  workers  walked  out  everywhere.  All  the  machin- 
ists walked  out  with  some  few  exceptions.  The  firemen  and  the  boilermakers 
walked  out  everywhere.  So  did  the  gasmakers  with  the  exception  of  those 
in  San  Francisco,  Vallejo,  San  Rafael,  Napa,  Woodland  and  Grass  Valley. 

"And  yet  on  that  first  day  of  the  strike  there  was  no  interruption  of  our 
service  with  the  exception  of  the  street  car  service  in  Oakland  which  was 
interrupted  in  certain  sections  for  as  much  as  an  hour  and  a  half  on  that  first 
morning.  No  other  industry  of  ours  in  the  entire  district  suffered  interruption 
even  for  a  moment. 

"This  remarkable  condition  was  made  possible  by  the  loyalty  of  our  heads 
of  departments  and  their  immediate  subordinates,  men  who  had  risen  from 
the  ranks,  who  had  acquired  the  technical  details  of  the  business  and  so  were 
able  to  take  the  positions  vacated  by  the  strikers  and  to  attend  to  the 
operation  of  the  plants  of  the  company  as  well  if  not  better  than  they  were 
operated  before. 

"It  has  always  been  the  policy  of  the  company  to  give  encouragement 
to  subordinates,  to  give  them  the  hope  and  promise  of  a  betterment  in 
position.  There  is  scarcely  a  man  in  our  employ  who  hasn't  begun  at  the 
bottom  rung  of  the  ladder  and  worked  his  way  up.  The  wisdom  of  that 
policy  was  shown  when  this  strike  was  declared. 

"At  the  beginning  of  the  strike  we  had  to  employ  very  few  men  from 
the  outside.  Bookkeepers,  cashiers,  solicitors,  the  young  men  in  the  engineer- 
ing department,  the  district  managers  and  division  superintendents  all  took 
the  places  where  they  were  needed.  Gradually  we  employed  other  men  to 
relieve  them.  But  in  the  meantime  some  of  them  worked  as  long  as  seventy- 
four  hours  at  a  stretch  before  they  were  given  aid. 

"This  has  never  happened  before.  We  occupy  a  unique  position  in  the 
world  of  strikes.  I  don't  believe  there  is  another  organization  in  the  world 
with  such  diversified  business  and  such  extent  of  territory  which  could  meet 
such  an  emergency  as  perfectly  as  the  men  in  the  Pacific  Gas  and  Electric  did. 
The  spirit  of  Pacific  Service  saturated  every  man  in  the  company.  A  strike 
like  this  would  be  positively  disastrous  to  a  company  which  was  without 
splendid  and  dependable  organization." 

I  also  coaxed  from  John  Britton  the  statement  that  the  company's 
preparedness  was  a  great  surprise  to  the  strikers  who  had  not  anticipated  any 
such  ability  to  handle  the  awkward  situation;  that  the  damage  to  property 
during  the  five  weeks  of  the  strike  had  been  negligible;  that  the  acts  of 
violence  had  caused  annoyance  and  little  more ;  that  the  deprivation  of  street 
lighting  had  been  the  principal  embarrassment ;  and  that  the  police  protection 
given  the  company  was  excellent. 

When  we  got  that  far  the  padlock  was  reapplied,  the  key  was  turned,  the 
Britton  jaws  shut  with  a  click  and  I  was  floated  out  of  the  Britton  presence 
on  a  comber  of  silence. 


34 


RICHARD  BURKE 


A  2 


F  ALL  comparisons,  those  instituted  between  cities  are  most 
likely  to  be  odious.  And  yet  there  are  many  points  in 
which  Dublin  and  San  Francisco  may  be  compared  and 

contrasted-" 

It  was  Richard  Burke  who  said  it,  and  he  ought  to 
know.  For  Richard  Burke  is  a  man  of  two  cities,  the  same 
being  Dublin  and  San  Francisco.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
say  which  city  he  knows  better.  For  years  he  has  been 
swinging  from  one  side  of  the  world  to  the  other  at  measured  intervals,  a 
very  active  sort  of  human  pendulum.  Alike  in  Golden  Gate  Park  and 
Stephens  Green  he  is  a  familiar  figure.  As  many  friends  hail  him  in  the  court 
of  the  Palace  as  grasp  his  hand  in  the  Gresham  on  O'Connell  street.  In 
the  very  new  Pacific-Union  and  the  very  old  United  Service  his  advent  is 
not  distinguished  as  that  of  a  traveler  but  celebrated  as  that  of  an  old  friend. 

It  would  be  invidious  to  inquire  which  city  Richard  Burke  likes  better. 
Dublin  he  loves  as  only  an  Irishman  can  love  his  country's  ancient  capital. 
For  San  Francisco  he  has  a  deep  and  abiding  affection.  And  why  not?  It 
was  here  that  the  romance  of  a  happy  marriage  came  into  his  life  when  he 
wooed  and  won  a  daughter  of  the  prominent  Donohoe  family.  It  was  here 
too  that  his  son  courted  and  married  beautiful  Genevieve  Walker.  And  he 
has  valuable  holdings  here.  He  was,  until  recently,  one  of  the  owners  of 
the  lot  where  the  Occidental  Hotel  used  to  be.  His  latest  trip  to  San 
Francisco  was  not  unconnected  with  the  plans  for  a  new  building  on  that 
site.  While  rather  diffident  about  discussing  the  future  of  the  property,  he 
let  it  be  known  that  he  would  like  to  see  a  grander  Occidental  rise  where 
the  famous  old  hostelry  went  down  to  ashes. 

"Wherever  I  travel,"  he  said,  "the  old  Occidental  is  lovingly  remem- 
bered. It  was  a  landmark  of  the  city.  When  I  arrived  here  five  weeks  after 
the  fire  my  judgment  was  that  it  should  be  rebuilt  on  lines  which  would 
restore  its  old  character  but  of  course  with  all  up-to-date  improvements." 

The  Occidental  Hotel  site  has  since  passed  to  other  hands.  A  splendid 
office  building  is  to  rise  there.  On  sentimental  grounds,  however,  San 
Franciscans  are  a  bit  sorry  that  the  plans  for  a  hotel  were  abandoned. 

Speaking  of  hotels,  Burke  prefers  the  American  to  the  English  and 
Irish  system. 

"When  you  engage  a  room  in  an  American  hotel,"  he  points  out,  "you 
pay  a  fixed  price  which  covers  everything,  but  in  England  and  Ireland  you 
receive  a  bill  which  carries  itemized  amounts  for  your  rooms,  for  attendance, 
for  your  lights,  for  fires  and  so  on.  The  bill  is  probably  smaller  than  your 
bill  would  be  in  America,  but  the  aggregation  of  small  items  is  irritating. 
It  is  much  more  satisfactory  to  pay  so  much  a  day." 

35 


VARIED    TYPES 

Our  restaurants,  he  admits,  cannot  be  equalled  by  anything  in  Dublin. 

"If  you  want  a  good  luncheon  or  a  good  dinner  in  Dublin,"  he  explains, 
"you  must  go  to  a  hotel  or  a  club.  There  are  no  places  there  like  the  fine 
establishments  in  San  Francisco." 

To  our  clubs  also  he  pays  high  compliment. 

"They  are  second  to  none  in  the  world.  And  there  are  features  of  club 
life  such  as  you  find  at  the  Bohemian  and  Olympic,  that  are  not  attempted 
in  Dublin." 

But  he  does  not  underrate  the  attractions  of  the  United  Service  and  the 
Stephens  Green  and  other  clubs  which  Irishmen  have  a  right  to  compare 
with  some  of  the  best  in  London. 

In  the  matter  of  theaters  he  throws  up  his  hands. 

"You  are  far  more  of  a  theatre-going  people  than  we  are  in  Dublin,"  he 
says.  "There  are  only  two  good  theatres  in  Dublin.  The  reason  of  course 
is  that  we  are  so  near  London  that  most  people  go  there  to  see  the  big  plays. 

"London,"  he  continues,  "is  really  the  capital  of  Ireland.  That  is  why 
the  glories  of  the  Dublin  that  flourished  before  the  Union  may  not  be 
restored  under  Home  Rule.  Before  the  Union  Dublin  had  the  best  of 
society.  Everybody  had  a  good  time.  Art  and  literature  flourished.  All 
things  beautiful  were  sought.  The  city  had  beautiful  houses,  beautiful 
pictures  and  the  finest  wines  in  the  world,  especially  claret  which  was  the 
favorite  drink.  But  these  things  will  not  revive  with  Home  Rule.  London 
was  far  away  in  those  old  days  and  few  Dubliners  went  there.  But  steam 
has  made  a  great  difference.  London  is  so  easy  to  reach  that  it  is  the 
metropolis  of  Irishmen  as  well  as  of  Englishmen." 

Richard  Burke  believes,  has  always  believed  in  Home  Rule.  His  views 
on  Irish  politics  are  not  those  of  the  enthusiast  but  of  the  thinker  and 
observer  who  has  studied  events  by  the  light  of  experience  and  under  the 
guidance  of  a  quiet  sense  of  humor.  Thirty  years  ago,  when  he  was  a  young 
barrister  in  Clonmel,  he  thought  of  trying  for  a  seat  in  Parliament.  It  was 
at  the  time  of  Gladstone's  great  land  act  and  he  probably  handled  more  cases 
under  the  rent-fixing  provisions  of  that  act  than  any  other  man  in  Ireland. 
But  he  was  Master  of  the  Tipperary  Hunt,  the  best  hunt  in  the  kingdom,  and 
on  the  advice  of  his  friend  T.  P.  O'Connor,  he  decided  not  to  try  to  combine 
the  two  positions.  He  stayed  with  the  sport  for  twenty-four  years  and  now 
his  thoughts  are  turning  once  more  toward  an  active  participation  in  politics. 

"Under  a  Home  Rule  Parliament  which  is  imminent,"  he  says,  "I  shall 
probably  renew  my  early  ambition." 

A  Home  Rule  Parliament!  To  many  expatriated  Irishmen  it  sounds 
too  good  to  be  true  and  yet  there  has  been  a  wonderful  renascence  in  every 
department  of  Irish  life. 

"Until  recently,"  says  Burke,  "there  were  lots  of  people  who  had  never 
heard  of  Daniel  O'Connell  and  Robert  Emmet.  Many  Irishmen  were  under 
the  impression  that  Ireland  had  no  history  to  boast  of.  They  were  told  so 
and  they  believed  it.  It  was  the  settled  policy  of  England  to  wipe  out  the 
faith,  the  literature  and  the  customs  of  the  country.  Why,  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  once  expressed  regret  that  he  was  an  Irishman.  It  he  were 

36 


RICHARD     BURKE 


RICHARD     BURKE 

living  today  he'd  wear  a  green  hat.  I  can  remember  when  people  were 
prosecuted  for  playing  'The  Wearin'  of  the  Green/  but  now  it  is  given  by  the 
military  bands  all  over  the  country. 

"All  things  Irish  are  much  sought  after.  In  the  public  market  Irish 
publications  of  earlier  date  fetch  a  great  deal  of  money.  The  love  of  art  has 
been  stimulated  by  the  opening  of  the  Municipal  Gallery  which  has  a  splendid 
collection  of  modern  masters.  The  literary  movement  is  growing  stronger 
and  stronger  all  the  time.  There  is  a  great  demand  for  old  Irish  silver  and 
Irish  glassware  and  no  wonder,  as  the  specimens  extant  are  very  beautiful. 
The  best  period  for  Irish  silver  was  from  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  to  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Glass  factories  too  were  numerous,  the 
most  famous  being  at  Waterford.  It  is  now  nearly  one  hundred  years  since 
glass  was  made  there  and  what  remains  is  exceedingly  valuable.  No  modern 
makers  have  succeeded  in  imitating  it.  And  we  had  more  than  our  share  of 
the  best  engravers.  Just  to  mention  three  names,  there  were  Thomas 
Burke,  John  Jones  and  J.  R.  Smith,  masters  of  the  art  whose  prints  used  to 
sell  in  Grafton  street,  Dublin,  or  in  Bond  street,  London,  for  two  and  six. 
Now  they  fetch  several  hundred  pounds." 

In  this  matter  of  Irish  antiquity  of  course  we  cannot  hope  to  rival  things 
Irish  for  many  generations.  But  in  more  modern  things?  Well,  Richard 
Burke,  good  Dubliner  that  he  is,  is  not  prepared  to  admit  that  our  street  cars 
are  as  good  as  the  trams  of  the  older  city.  He  points  out  too  that  Dublin 
has  for  a  long  time  possessed  a  municipal  water  supply  and  that  the  city 
has  a  plant  for  electric-lighting  the  public  buildings.  Certainly  we  are 
behind  there.  And  what  have  we,  he  asks,  to  rival  the  Dublin  Museum,  the 
Royal  Irish  Academy  and  the  great  library  of  Trinity  College.  And  as  for 
railway  depots,  there  are  six  fine  depots  in  Dublin,  while  San  Francisco — 
but  that  is  a  sore  subject  with  us. 

Not  that  Burke  is  aggressive  in  these  comparisons.  He  made  them  very 
unwillingly.  I  had  to  draw  them  out  of  him.  He  is  entirely  satisfied  with 
San  Francisco  and  does  not  come  here  as  a  critic  but  as  one  of  us.  And  yet, 
if  he  had  to  make  his  choice  between  the  two  towns  as  a  place  of  fixed  abode, 
I  think  I  know  which  one  he  would  choose.  Down  deep  in  his  heart,  I  think, 
the  situation  is  formulated  thus : 

"Not  that  I  love  San  Francisco  less  but  Dublin  more." 

Can  you  blame  him?    I  leave  the  answer  to  any  Irishman. 


39 


VINCENT  K.  BUTLER 


HAT  does  a  Rhodes  scholarship  do  to  an  American?  We  all 
know  what  it  does  for  him — it  gives  him  three  years'  train- 
ing at  the  greatest  school  in  the  world.  But  what  does  it  do 
to  him?  Does  it  make  an  anglomaniac  of  him?  Does  it 
alienate  him  from  his  native  land?  Does  it  deprive  him  of 
sympathy  for  his  fellow  Americans?  Does  the  Rhodes 
scholar  return  to  the  United  States  a  better  or  a  worse 
American  than  he  went  away?  Is  he  anglicized?  Is  the 
British  accent  upon  his  thoughts  and  actions  as  well  as  upon  his  tongue? 
In  a  word,  is  the  Rhodes  scholar  so  changed  that  when  he  comes  back  his 
friends  wish  that  he  had  attended  Harvard  or  Yale  or  Berkeley  instead  of 
Oxford? 

When  I  talked  with  Vincent  K.  Butler  I  had  these  questions  in  my  mind, 
and  when  he  answered  my  queries  of  curiosity  I  searched  behind  the  answers 
for  a  reply  to  these  more  important  interrogations.  I  was  desirous  of  finding 
out  the  effect  that  three  years  of  Oxford  had  had  upon  young  Butler  rather 
than  of  discovering  what  he  had  learned  there.  What  matters  most  in  a 
university  career  is  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  you  leave.  The  end  of  the 
course  is  really  the  beginning  of  things ;  that,  I  suppose,  is  the  reason  we 
speak  of  "commencement"  exercises.  So  I  endeavored  to  make  out  Butler's 
mental  attitude  on  leaving  Oxford. 

Young  Butler  has  candor,  so  my  task  was  not  one  of  unusual  difficulty. 
The  first  thing  of  which  I  satisfied  myself  was  that  his  head  hadn't  been  turned 
or  swelled.  This  St.  Ignatius  lad  went  to  Oxford  with  a  fine  record  in 
scholarship  and  athletics.  He  was  nineteen,  below  the  age  of  most  Rhodes 
scholars,  when  he  left  the  Jesuit  college  in  this  city  to  enter  Worcester  Col- 
lege, Oxford.  The  distinction  of  winning  a  Rhodes  scholarship  in  competitive 
examination  with  the  best  students  of  our  large  colleges  did  not  spoil  him ; 
neither  did  the  distinction  he  won  during  his  three  years  at  Oxford.  He  was 
modest  three  years  ago;  he  is  modest  now. 

But  that  is  a  comparatively  small  matter.  Much  larger  is  the  attitude 
of  the  Rhodes  scholar  toward  Englishmen,  for  his  attitude  toward  English- 
men will  affect  his  attitude  toward  Americans.  Has  he  formed  crass  ideas 
about  the  superiority  of  Englishmen  to  Americans,  or  vice  versa?  Well, 
hero  worship  is  one  of  the  easiest  cults  for  an  impressionable  young  man  to 
fall  into.  Another  is  the  cult  of  iconoclasm.  Let  us  test  our  Rhodes  scholar 
by  means  of  the  heroes  whom  he  met  at  Oxford. 

"Chesterton,"  says  Vincent  Butler,  "should  be  read,  not  heard ;  or  if 
heard,  not  seen.  His  voice  is  too  little,  his  body  too  big.  He  is  impressive 
only  in  his  writings.  When  he  addressed  us  the  effect  was  like  that  of 
champagne  before  breakfast. 


40 


VINCENT     K.     BUTLER 


VINCENT     K.     BUTLER 

"Shaw  spoke  to  us  on  comedy.  'In  ancient  times  there  was  Aristophanes,' 
he  said ;  'later  there  was  Moliere ;  today  there  is  of  course  myself.'  One 
expects  that  egoism  of  Shaw,  and  he  never  disappoints  an  expectation,  even 
when  good  taste  seems  to  demand  that  he  should. 

"We  saw  Dr.  Robert  Bridges  fairly  frequently  in  Worcester.  Our 
provost,  Dr.  Daniel,  had  privately  published  Dr.  Bridges'  first  poems.  Before 
he  was  made  poet  laureate  he  would  read  occasionally  to  one  of  our  literary 
societies,  the  Lovelace  Club.  (Colonel  Richard  Lovelace  was  an  old  Wor- 
cester man.)  Bridges  delighted  in  reading  his  Virgilian  translations  to  us. 
At  times  he  would  stop  to  muse ;  then  he  would  murmur : 

"  'Ah,  how  Virgil  would  have  loved  the  hum  and  buzz  of  that  line !' 

"His  readings  were  as  scholarly  as  one  would  expect,  but  they  did  not 
provide  our  most  spirited  meetings !  When  he  was  made  poet  laureate,  I 
wrote  to  ask  if  he  would  honor  the  club  as  our  guest.  He  answered  with  a 
five-word  rebuff  on  a  halfpenny  postcard.  He  was  too  busy.  Later,  when 
he  was  visiting  the  provost,  he  summoned  me  to  say  that  he  was  quite  willing 
to  come  to  us  if  what  he  had  to  say  would  be  of  any  benefit.  He  gave  me 
a  ten-minute  talk  on  pronunciation,  the  length  of  a  syllable  and  the  quantity 
of  a  vowel.  Then  he  asked  if  that  sort  of  thing  would  interest  the  club.  I 
was  not  quite  sure,  so  we  missed  the  poet  laureate's  visit.  A  week  later  he 
published  a  book  on  his  hobby,  'The  Present  State  of  English  Pronunciation.' 

"Lloyd  George's  speech  at  the  Union  was  the  most  compelling  I  ever 
heard.  Indeed,  when  he  spoke  shortly  afterwards  near  Oxford  there  we-e 
those  who  labeled  him  great.  He  is  splendid,  a  splendid  demagogue. 

"I  was  converted  to  Home  Rule  by  hearing  Sir  Edward  Carson  speak 
against  it.  I  cannot  think  of  him  as  Irish  except  in  the  brogue  and  a  certain 
trick  of  the  voice.  But  that  may  be  the  South  of  Ireland  in  me  confessing 
a  lack  of  sympathy  with  the  North. 

"The  Prince  of  Wales  is  twenty-two  and  looks  seventeen.  He  is  not 
aloof,  but  his  set  was  picked  for  him  before  he  came.  Hansell,  his  tutor,  is 
much  in  evidence,  hence  the  quip — 'too  much  Hansel  and  not  enough  Gretel.' 

"Ambassador  Page  was  pleasing  as  a  speaker,  and  pleasant  to  speak  to. 
Like  Sir  William  Osier  he  has  charm.  But  in  statesmanship  he  is  not  a  Sir 
Edward  Grey." 

I  submit  that  this  Rhodes  scholar  has  not  been  prejudiced  for  or  against 
these  great  men  by  the  fact  of  their  greatness  or  the  fact  of  their  nationality. 
I  do  not  dwell  on  the  soundness  of  judgment  apparent  in  these  estimates, 
quite  unlike  the  hit-or-miss  appraisements  of  the  enthusiastic  undergraduate 
in  American  colleges.  I  am  not  seeking  to  praise  Butler,  but  to  use  him  as 
a  means  of  testing  the  Rhodes  scholarship  idea.  Am  I  wrong  in  thinking 
that  when  America  is  leavened  with  young  men  capable  of  appreciating  at 
their  worth  the  great  men  who  stand  for  us  as  representatives  of  certain  Eng- 
lish classes,  parties,  ideals  and  so  on,  we  shall  be  much  better  off  than  we  are 
now? 

Butler  has  seen  other  British  things  as  clearly  as  he  saw  celebrities.  He 
smiles  at  Oxford  slang,  but  not  superciliously.  He  laughs  at  the  tea  drink- 
ing, but  not  patronizingly. 

43 


VARIED     TYPES 

"There  are  really  four  t's,"  he  says;  "tea,  toast,  tobacco  and  talk.  And 
they  go  together  surprisingly  well." 

He  neither  condemns  nor  praises  British  reserve;  he  accepts  it  and  un- 
derstands it. 

"When  I  left  Oxford,"  he  says,  "some  of  the  notes  I  received  from 
fellows  who  had  been  like  brothers  to  me  were  amazingly  blunt  and  casual. 
But  the  feeling  was  there.  These  friendships  had  been  slow  in  the  making. 
You  are  let  severely  alone  when  you  arrive,  and  you  learn  to  go  about  quietly 
and  not  intrude.  After  a  while  you  are  accepted  and  take  your  place  in  the 
college  life.  Athletics  is  a  great  help  in  smoothing  the  way  for  the  stranger. 
Rowing,  tennis  and  rugger  are  open  to  you.  Cricket  is  more  difficult.  The 
baseball  training  is  little  help  for  cricket.  The  batting  is  a  matter  of  wrist 
and  body  movements  which  must  be  learned  when  one  is  very  young.  I 
think  their  batting  is  more  scientific  than  ours.  In  baseball  the  good  eye  and 
the  swing  are  nearly  everything ;  not  so  in  cricket. 

"Take  it  all  in  all,"  said  Butler,  "you  are  playing  the  other  man's  game 
and  it  is  his  deal.  But  it  is  an  altogether  delightful  game  to  play.  It  is  a 
superb  opportunity,  this  of  learning  the  Oxford  standards  and  of  meeting  on 
intimate  terms  the  representatives  not  only  of  Great  Britain  but  also  of 
Germany  and  of  France.  And  it  doesn't  hurt  one's  Americanism." 

I  think  Butler  is  right.  Oxford  has  developed  him  as  no  American  col- 
lege would  in  three  years,  but  it  has  not  changed  him.  He  returns  the  same 
American  who  went  away.  It  is  true  that  he  has  an  English  accent,  but  he 
acquired  it  so  unconsciously  that  he  didn't  believe  he  had  it  when  people  first 
joked  him  about  it.  It  will  go  from  him  just  as  unconsciously,  and  that's  a 
good  thing,  for  it  is  not  well  for  an  American  to  have  an  English  accent  or 
any  sort  of  accent.  For  the  rest,  Vincent  Butler  seems  to  prove  that  the  will 
of  Cecil  Rhodes  is  not  going  to  spoil  promising  young  Americans. 


44 


GIUSEPPE  CADENASSO 


'UST  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him,  with  his  thick  silver  hair 
parted  in  the  middle,  his  fine  brown  eyes,  his  strong  nose 
and  his  sensitive  lips  that  smile  beneath  a  gray  mustache,  is 
to  know  him  for  an  artist.  He  has  a  strong  face,  has 
Giuseppe  Cadenasso  of  San  Francisco,  and  a  vigorous  frame 
that  tells  of  strength  to  the  ends  of  his  spatulate  fingers; 
yet  is  there  apparent  in  him,  particularly  when  one  converses 
with  him,  that  feminine  element  which  has  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  effeminacy,  but  is  essential  to  the  makeup  of  the  artist. 

Was  it  reserve  or  something  of  this  attribute  which  caused  him,  for 
instance,  to  evade,  very  gracefully  and  with  a  smile,  the  question  of  his  year 
of  birth?  He  will  tell  you  that  he  is  going  down  hill,  but  it  is  a  form  of 
words ;  he  knows  that  he  carries  a  lighter  burden  of  age  than  many  younger 
men.  But  just  the  same  he  evaded  that  question  of  the  exact  year. 

Genoa  was  Cadenasso's  native  place  and  he  came  to  San  Francisco  when 
he  was  nine  years  old,  poor  but  ambitious,  ill-educated  but  aimful,  a  timid 
alien  burning  with  a  fire  that  some  call  the  divine  fire  of  genius  but  about 
which  Cadenasso,  shrugging  his  broad  shoulders,  professes  to  know  naught 
except  that  it  must  be  stoked  with  hard  work. 

Hard  work  was  his  portion  for  all  those  early  years;  not  the  hard  work 
of  the  studio  which  is  his  life  work  and  will  only  cease  when  his  last  picture 
is  painted  and  his  last  tube  twisted  and  dry,  but  the  hard  toil  that  buys  bread 
and  keeps  out  the  cold.  He  did  odd  jobs  in  the  city;  he  did  chores  in  the 
country.  And  always  in  his  leisure  moments  he  was  busy  with  a  bit  of 
chalk  or  a  pencil. 

Always  full  of  energy  he  worked  just  as  hard  at  his  recreation  as  at  his 
tasks,  and  at  the  proper  moment  that  curious  interposition  of  providence  or 
destiny  or  luck — call  it  what  you  will,  it  is  to  be  traced  in  nearly  all  our 
lives — placed  him  in  the  line  of  his  vocation.  With  his  crayons  he  had 
covered  the  blank  walls  of  a  room  in  his  uncle's  house  with  ships  and  figures 
and  landscapes  when  a  great  artist  of  those  early  San  Francisco  days  hap- 
pened along  to  observe  his  work.  It  was  Jules  Tavernier.  He  recognized 
the  boy's  talent  and  in  that  indirect  way  which  is  the  most  potent  means  of 
communication  between  kindred  souls,  he  encouraged  him  to  persevere. 

That  the  boy  had  a  lot  to  learn  may  be  inferred  from  the  course  he 
pursued  immediately  after  making  Tavernier's  acquaintance.  He  went  to 
work  for  a  fresco  painter.  It  was  hardly  the  place  to  learn  art,  but  there 
were  brushes  to  be  handled  and  colors  to  be  dabbled  and  he  liked  it.  Then 
he  was  fired.  Perhaps  we  might  trace  here  the  incongruity  of  the  artistic 
temperament  and  base  commercial  limitations,  but  the  fine-spun  fashionable 
theory  would  not  appeal  to  Cadenasso.  He  would  be  the  first  to  say  that  he 

45 


VARIED     TYPES 

was  fired  because  his  work  was  unsatisfactory,  not  because  it  was  too  good. 
For  a  time  he  was  plunged  into  the  depths  of  despondency,  but  the  reaction 
came  when  he  found  work  making  crayon  enlargements  of  photographs. 
There  was  a  vogue  of  those  enlargements  in  San  Francisco,  as  any  curious 
person  may  learn  by  inspecting  old-fashioned  parlors  which  survived  the 
fire.  Some  of  the  enlargements  in  the  heavy  gilt  frames  that  surmount  the 
fireplace  may  be  Cadenasso's  work. 

With  the  money  thus  earned  Cadenasso  paid  for  his  tuition  at  the  San 
Francisco  Art  Association  which  had  its  rooms  in  Pine  street  over  the  Cali- 
fornia Market.  There  he  met  Arthur  Mathews,  and  the  meeting  was  only 
second  in  importance  to  his  meeting  with  Jules  Tavernier.  He  admired 
Mathews  and  was  afraid  of  him,  for  Mathews  had  the  stern  front  and  the 
cutting  tongue  of  the  teacher. 

"When  he  said  your  work  was  rotten,  you  knew  it  was  rotten,"  says 
Cadenasso  with  a  smile. 

It  was  the  proper  influence  for  an  eager  boy  and  Cadenasso  realizes  the 
value  of  that  early  discipline.  When  he  speaks  of  Mathews  he  uses  super- 
latives. 

Painting  assiduously  Cadenasso  was  yet  afraid  to  exhibit.  He  had  to 
overcome  that  shyness  about  his  own  compositions  which  is  a  trait  of  the 
sensitive  youth  and  makes  him  blush  when  his  composition  is  read  to  the 
class  by  his  teacher.  Finally  a  mute  student  named  Redmond  insisted  that 
Cadenasso  put  his  work  on  view,  and  in  great  trepidation  he  submitted  his 
best  pictures  to  Secretary  Martin.  Martin  showed  the  pictures  to  Yelland, 
the  marine  painter,  and  Yelland  thought  so  much  of  them  that  he  bade  his 
pupils  admire  them  which,  after  the  fashion  of  pupils  the  world  over,  they 
dutifully  did.  So  Cadenasso  exhibited.  It  was  a  great  impulse  to  renewed 
effort,  but  it  was  somewhat  dampened  on  varnishing  day  when  he  needed 
a  ladder  of  twenty  steps  to  reach  his  canvases.  That  was  heartbreaking,  of 
course,  but  like  all  men  with  the  stuff  of  success  in  their  bosoms,  Cadenasso 
has  had  his  heart  broken  time  and  time  again  without  succumbing. 

Gradually  he  began  to  achieve.  His  paintings  attracted  attention.  Slowly 
but  surely,  at  the  exhibitions,  they  came  down  from  the  ceiling  until  they 
reached  prominent  position  on  the  line.  There  came  the  rapture  of  the  first 
sale,  the  dignity  of  the  first  small  studio  all  his  own.  Cadenasso  had  arrived. 
He  sold  pictures  to  the  wealthy  men  and  women  of  this  and  other  cities  of 
America;  some  of  his  works  even  went  to  Paris.  Connoisseurs  of  great  fame 
are  proud  to  possess  them. 

Since  he  left  Genoa  a  boy  of  nine  years  Cadenasso  has  not  been  abroad. 
For  years  he  could  not  afford  to  make  the  expensive  trip  and  today — who 
knows? — artists  are  rarely  rich.  There  was  a  time  when  he  was  glad  of  the 
onportunity  to  go  as  far  into  the  heart  of  nature  as  one  may  travel  in  Golden 
Gate  Park.  Our  hills,  our  ocean  beach,  the  flats  and  sloughs  within  an 
hour's  journey  have  given  him  the  inspiration  which  others  have  sought  in 
France,  in  Italy,  in  the  Netherlands.  For  there  is  nothing  imitative  in 
Cadenasso's  work.  There  is  no  trace  of  Corot  or  Diaz,  of  Constable  or  Turner 
in  his  canvases.  If  he  had  gone  abroad  the  influence  of  these  and  their 

46 


GIUSEPPE    CADENASSO 


GIUSEPPE     CADENASSO 

schools  would  have  been  almost  unavoidable.  He  would  have  ceased  to  be 
Cadenasso  of  San  Francisco. 

Originality  is  the  keynote  of  Cadenasso's  landscapes.  He  has  never 
unlearned  the  priceless  lesson,  never  surrendered  the  invaluable  gift  of  look- 
ing at  nature  with  his  own  eyes.  What  he  sees  is  not  what  other  painters 
see;  most  decidedly  it  is  not  the  workaday  spectacle  which  the  inartistic  see. 
It  is  nature  transfigured  by  the  Cadenasso  personality,  and  that  is  the  per- 
sonality of  a  nature  lover.  He  cares  nothing  for  portrait  painting.  It  is 
drudgery,  he  says;  the  word  may  be  reminiscent  of  those  old  days  when  he 
enlarged  photographs  in  crayon. 

Of  course  Cadenasso  has  a  theory  of  art — theory  of  work  would  express 
it  better.  You  must  study,  he  says;  you  must  apply  yourself;  you  must 
choose  your  path  and  keep  everlastingly  at  it  till  you  have  followed  it  to  the 
end — and  you  will  reach  the  end  of  your  chosen  path  only  when  you  can  work 
no  more.  Genius  means  hard  work  in  his  vocabulary,  and  sincerity  spells 
success.  He  doesn't  believe  in  Bohemianism  or  in  cliques.  There  are  no 
incense  dreams,  no  solemn  darknesses,  no  lazy  wooings  of  inspiration  in  his 
studio  days.  No  music  of  gongs  summons  his  color  vision  to  the  inward  eye. 
The  stimulus  of  alcohol  and  nicotine  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  art. 

"Go  to  bed  early  and  arise  with  a  clear  eye  if  you  would  see  nature," 
says  Giuseppe  Cadenasso. 


49 


JAMES  W.  COFFROTH 


O  YOU  remember,"  asked  Jimmy  Coffroth,  "Lord  Macaulay's 
description  of  Viscount  Halifax?" 

I  let  him  infer  from  the  slight  motion  of  my  head  that 
I  knew  the  passage  intimately.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  didn't 
remember  it  at  all. 

"I  see  you  are  familiar  with  it,"  continued  Coffroth,  "so 
I  need  only  remind  you  of  the  point  which  Macaulay  brings 
out." 

I  blush  now  for  my  deceit,  but  I  did  not  blush  then.  The  truth  is,  I  was 
too  busy  trying  to  follow  the  nimble  movements  of  Jimmy  Coffroth's  mind. 
What  Viscount  Halifax  had  to  do  with  the  general  subject  of  morals  and 
moralists  which  we  were  discussing  I  could  not  guess  offhand.  But  that  is 
part  of  the  charm  of  Jimmy  Coffroth's  conversation.  He  reaches  out  every 
once  in  a  while  and  plucks  a  vivid  illustration  or  an  apt  quotation  from  an 
unexpected  hiding  place.  An  omnivorous  reader,  especially  of  history, 
Coffroth  keeps  the  past  at  his  finger-ends  and  has  a  habit  of  using  it  in  the 
interpretation  of  the  present.  What  Napoleon  said  at  Borodino  or  what  King 
James  forgot  to  do  at  Boyne  Water  become  very  important  matters  to 
Coffroth  when  they  shed  light  on  a  current  happening.  The  study  of  the 
Duke  of  Marlborough's  picture  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery  of  London 
gave  Coffroth  the  key  to  the  character  of  a  man  in  San  Francisco.  Such 
things  happen  only  to  those  who  have  minds  of  inexhaustible  energy.  That's 
the  kind  of  mind  Coffroth  has.  Your  mind  has  to  be  quick  when  it  is  in 
contact  with  his.  And  so,  as  I  say,  while  I  told  a  silent  lie  about  Macaulay 
I  wondered  how  he  was  going  to  bring  Viscount  Halifax  in. 

"You  recall  of  course,"  Coffroth  went  on,  "that  Lord  Macaulay  in  his 
history  of  England  classes  Halifax  with  those  politicians  whom  both  Whigs 
and  Tories  contemptuously  dubbed  'Trimmers.'  Macaulay  says,  as  you 
doubtless  remember,  that  Halifax  was  a  Trimmer  by  the  constitution  both  of 
his  head  and  of  his  heart ;  that  such  a  man  could  not  long  be  constant  to  any 
kind  of  political  allies,  and  that  his  place  was  between  the  hostile  divisions 
of  the  community. 

"I  always  think  of  that  little  character  sketch  when  I  meet  a  politician. 
Every  politician  I  know  is  a  Viscount  Halifax,  a  Trimmer.  And  this  refers 
particularly  to  politicians  of  the  reform  variety." 

Coffroth  ought  to  know.  At  the  age  of  seven  he  was  a  page  in  the 
legislature.  When  still  a  young  boy  he  was  made  the  secretary  of  the 
Superior  Court  in  San  Francisco.  As  a  fight  promoter  he  has  mingled  with 
reformers  and  performers  at  every  session  of  the  legislature  for  many  years. 
So  Coffroth  has  the  experience.  Add  to  the  Coffroth  experience  the  Coffroth 
brain,  and  you  have  a  combination  that  makes  his  opinion  worth  while. 

50 


JAMES     W.     COFFROTH 


JAMES    W.     COFFROTH 

Just  a  word  about  the  Coffroth  brain.  Jimmy  inherited  that  from  his 
father,  one  of  the  brainiest  lawyers,  one  of  the  ablest  legislators  and  one  of 
the  most  eloquent  orators  in  the  annals  of  California.  The  name  of  the  elder 
Coffroth  is  written  indelibly  in  the  chronicles  of  our  State.  His  intellectual 
fortune  passed  to  his  son.  Jimmy  could  have  won  a  brilliant  success  in  any 
profession  or  any  business.  He  chose  fight  promoting  because  he  had  an 
instinctive  love  of  the  game.  He  says  that  long  before  he  was  associated 
with  boxing  and  boaters  the  Coliseum  appealed  to  him  more  than  any  other 
ruin  in  Rome.  But  the  Coffroth  brain  does  not  confine  itself  to  sporting 
matters.  It  ranges  over  a  wide  field  of  thought.  Just  now  the  Coffroth  brain 
is  concerning  itself  with  morals  and  moral  reformers.  He  was  formulating 
some  of  his  experiences  in  general  statements  on  this  subject  when  Viscount 
Halifax  came  into  his  conversation. 

"Not  one  reformer  in  twenty  is  on  the  level,"  continued  Coffroth.  "The 
reformer  follows  the  line  of  least  resistance.  He  espouses  the  popular  cause. 
And  just  now  in  California  the  popular  cause  is  the  cause  which  the  feminine 
politician  is  interested  in.  So  you  find  the  Californian  reformer  falling  in 
line  behind  the  feminine  lobbyist. 

"Mind  you,  I  don't  meant  to  cast  any  reflection  on  our  women.  There 
are  fewer  women  clamoring  for  so-called  reform  than  men.  But  the  clamor 
made  by  the  few  women  who  are  eager  for  publicity  is  so  great  that  it  seems 
to  come  from  the  entire  sex.  The  reformers  are  deeply  impressed  by  it. 
They  are  frightened  by  a  woman's  lobby.  Five  women  can  exert  a  more 
potent  influence  on  a  legislature,  a  board  of  supervisors  or  a  mayor  than 
fifty  men. 

"When  I  was  at  the  legislature  in  the  interest  of  the  boxing  bill,  many 
senators  and  assemblymen  told  me  that  they  were  in  sympathy  with  my 
efforts,  but  begged  to  be  excused  from  supporting  me  on  account  of  the 
women.  'What  will  the  women  of  my  district  say?'  they  asked  me  time  and 
time  again.  And  yet  the  majority  of  women  approve  of  boxing  and  every 
form  of  manly  exercise  and  sport.  But  these  men  were  afraid  of  the  women 
in  politics.  And  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  woman  in  politics  inspires  fear.  If 
I  said  to  the  Chief  of  Police  what  Mrs.  Campbell  said  a  policeman  would 
throw  me  out  of  the  room.  The  politician  is  afraid  to  turn  a  woman  down. 
Besides,  the  good  looks  of  a  woman  lobbyist  will  accomplish  more  than  the 
persuasive  tongue  of  a  man.  Is  a  man  on  the  level  when  he  surrenders  his 
better  judgment  in  fear  of  offending  a  woman  and  losing  her  vote? 

"I  had  an  excellent  opportunity  to  study  our  reformers  in  their  very 
sanctuary  of  reform,  namely,  the  committee  on  public  morals.  Lieutenant- 
Governor  Wallace  was  not  on  the  level  when  he  selected  that  committee.  He 
deliberately  packed  it.  Four  members  came  from  south  of  Tehachapi ;  one 
came  from  San  Luis  Obispo ;  two  from  this  city,  the  city  to  whose  morals  the 
committee  devoted  such  loving  attention.  Senator  Owens  was  the  author  of 
the  two  o'clock  closing  bill  which  received  the  hall  mark  of  that  committee. 
I  don't  think  he  was  on  the  level  about  that  bill  because  I  met  him  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  in  a  Sacramento  saloon.  I  could  name  another 
reformer  of  the  same  kind,  one  of  the  most  prominent  members  of  that  same 

53 


VARIED    TYPES 

committee,  a  furious  reformer  who  was  for  two  o'clock  closing,  redlight 
abatement,  a  dry  World's  Fair  and  so  on  down  the  list.  Yet  it  was  notorious 
in  Sacramento  that  this  sweet  character  used  every  means  in  his  power  to 
corrupt  the  virtue  of  a  stenographer. 

"One  of  our  misfortunes  is  that  many  of  our  legislators  are  men  who 
became  fixed  in  the  ways  of  Oshkosh,  Wisconsin,  or  Burlington,  Iowa,  before 
they  came  to  this  State.  Instead  of  learning  to  accommodate  themselves  to 
our  ways  they  insist  that  our  ways  are  all  wrong  and  must  be  made  to 
conform  to  the  ways  back  home.  Southern  Californians  and  country 
legislators  passed  the  two  o'clock  closing  bill  which  applies  only  to  San 
Francisco  and  Sacramento.  They  can't  forget  that  the  saloons  close  early  in 
Oshkosh  and  Burlington. 

"That  law  will  not  reduce  the  consumption  of  liquor;  it  will  increase  it. 
After  the  fire  when  the  local  saloons  were  forbidden  to  sell  liquor  after 
midnight  I  know  by  my  own  experience  that  men  ordered  extra  drinks  just 
before  midnight  and  sat  around  consuming  them  till  three  or  four  in  the 
morning  when  otherwise  they  would  have  gone  home  at  one.  It  is  the 
influence  of  suggestion.  Even  good  people  want  to  do  what  is  forbidden, 
when  the  forbidden  thing  is  not  evil  in  itself. 

"The  man  who  wants  a  drink  after  two  will  get  it.  But  he  will  have  to 
go  to  a  room  in  some  lax  hotel  for  it,  or  to  a  blind  pig,  or  to  a  French 
restaurant.  And  the  copper  who  got  five  dollars  a  week  from  the  French 
restaurant  will  soon  be  getting  ten  or  twenty  to  make  him  wink  at  the 
violation  of  the  law. 

"Look  at  the  result  of  early  closing  in  Los  Angeles.  I  believe  there 
are  twenty  thousand  'bungalows'  maintained  in  Los  Angeles  for  improper 
purposes.  The  Los  Angeles  'bungalow'  corresponds  to  the  London  flat  and 
the  New  York  apartment.  The  rich  Los  Angeles  man  of  loose  morals  keeps 
a  'bungalow'  in  addition  to  his  home.  At  the  'bungalow'  he  does  what  the 
law  forbids  him  to  do  elsewhere — he  drinks,  gambles,  rags  and  entertains 
women. 

"Isn't  it  manlier,  healthier,  better  in  every  way  to  motor  to  the  Cliff 
House  for  a  dance  and  a  drink  than  to  sneak  off  to  a  Los  Angeles  bungalow? 
The  bungalow  is  more  dangerous  to  young  girls  than  the  Casino.  Closed 
doors  spell  danger.  What  is  clandestine  is  usually  vicious.  The  man  who 
sneaks  behind  a  screen  is  an  evil  influence.  In  proportion  to  population  there 
are  more  men  keeping  mistresses  in  New  York,  Philadelphia  and  Los 
Angeles  than  in  Chicago  and  San  Francisco.  Why?  Because  the  lid  is 
clamped  tight  in  the  three  former  cities.  In  Chicago  and  San  Francisco  men 
are  not  pointed  out,  talked  about,  ostracized  for  peccadilloes.  It  is  for  the 
same  reason  that  morality  is  higher  in  a  big  city  than  in  a  small  town.  Dig 
out  the  principle  that  underlies  these  facts  and  you'll  be  able  to  explain  what 
I  regard  as  undeniable— that  France,  despite  the  depravity  of  Paris,  is  the 
most  virtuous  country  in  the  world. 

"The  reformer  who  is  most  eager  to  make  other  people  moral  is  usually 
the  man  who  knows  least  about  actual  conditions  of  morality  and  immorality. 
We  are  to  have  a  referendum  on  the  redlight  law.  I  think  the  redlight  will 

54 


JAMES     W.     COFFROTH 

be  upheld  four  to  one.  Why?  Well,  for  one  reason,  because  the  voter  in 
Imperial  Valley  or  Del  Norte  read  the  story  of  Alice  Smith  in  the  Bulletin 
and  concluded  that  San  Francisco  was  a  loathsome  sink  of  iniquity.  He  will 
vote  to  reform  San  Francisco  of  which  he  really  knows  nothing.  If  I  am  right 
the  redlight  law  will  remain  on  the  statute  books,  for  after  an  overwhelming 
expression  of  public  opinion  by  means  of  a  referendum  vote,  no  legislature 
will  dare  to  repeal  it. 

"A  misfortune?  I  certainly  think  so.  Fifteen  years  ago  when  I  used  to 
walk  up  Powell  street  to  the  Olympic  Club  I  was  accosted  from  ten  to  fifty 
times  between  Market  and  Post.  For  ten  years  I  have  not  once  been  stopped 
by  a  streetwalker.  You  know  the  conditions  which  exist  on  the  Strand  in 
London  and  on  the  Frederickstrasse  in  Berlin  where  there  is  no  segregation. 
Do  we  want  prostitutes  in  the  uptown  restaurants?  It's  too  bad  we  can't 
segregate  the  buncomen  so  they  wouldn't  meet  the  unwary.  The  prostitute 
preys  like  the  buncoman. 

"It's  a  curious  thing,  by  the  way,  but  every  time  I  have  entertained  one 
of  these  legislative  reformers  from  out  of  San  Francisco — and  it  is  sometimes 
to  my  interest  to  do  so — I  find  them  most  attracted  by  one  phase  of  our  life. 
After  a  luncheon  at  Tait's,  a  motor  ride  through  the  Park  to  the  Cliff  House, 
a  visit  to  the  Mission  Dolores,  a  view  of  the  hills  and  of  the  bay  and  a  dinner 
at  the  Palace,  there  is  one  invariable  question.  They  have  seen  the  ocean  and 
a  more  glorious  bay  than  the  Bay  of  Naples,  they  have  enjoyed  the  loveliness 
that  is  spread  about  in  such  profusion.  I  am  thinking  of  home  and  bed. 
Presumably  they  are  sated  with  sight-seeing.  But  then  comes  the  invariable 
question:  'How  about  the  Barbary  Coast?' 

"Politicians?  Reformers?  Guardians  of  San  Francisco's  virtue? 
Nonsense!  Is  it  any  wonder  I  say  nine  out  of  ten  politicians  are  fakers? 
That  not  one  reformer  out  of  twenty  is  on  the  level?" 


55 


FRANK  DAROUX 


m 


E  DOESN'T  look  a  bit  like  John  Oakhurst.  He  doesn't 
resemble  any  picture  you've  ever  seen,  any  description  you've 
ever  read,  any  stage  portrayal  you've  ever  watched,  of  the 
professional  gambler.  He  looks  like,  and  is,  a  politician.  He 
looks,  and  most  assuredly  he  is,  prosperous.  But  a  gambler? 
If  your  ideas  of  gamblers  have  been  formed  from  fiction,  from 
lurid  illustrations  or  from  the  work  of  the  playwrights,  Frank 
Daroux  will  disappoint  you.  Where  is  that  interesting 
pallor  we  are  wont  to  associate  with  the  professional  gambler?  Where  the 
delicate,  tapering  fingers?  Where  the  deliberate  flashiness  or  elaborate 
simplicity  of  costly  attire?  All  missing  in  Frank  Daroux.  True,  he  likes 
good  diamonds,  but  he  never  flaunts  them.  He  never  flaunts  anything,  not 
even  his  opinions. 

While  he  doesn't  look  the  part,  Frank  Daroux  is  our  premier  professional 
gambler.  His  career  as  a  gambler  runs  back  over  thirty  years.  You  can't 
name  a  gambling  game  of  any  importance  that  he  hasn't  run  at  one  time  or 
another.  You  can't  mention  any  city  or  sizable  town  in  California  where  he 
hasn't  been  interested  in  gambling  at  one  time  or  another.  You  can't  pick 
out  any  city  or  town  in  Northern  California  where  he  hasn't  conducted  a 
game  personally  some  time  within  three  decades.  The  gambling  history  of 
California  couldn't  be  written  without  featuring  Frank  Daroux. 

As  to  his  standing  with  those  who  worship  or  have  worshiped  at  the 
shrine  of  the  Goodess  of  Chance — well,  just  ask  them  about  Frank.  They'll 
tell  you,  one  and  all,  that  Frank  Daroux  is  and  always  has  been  a  "square 
guy."  I  never  knew  any  gambler  to  "knock"  Frank  Daroux.  I  never  heard 
of  any  gambler  complaining  that  he  did  not  get  a  "square  deal"  in  a  game  run 
by  Frank  Daroux.  Frank  has  made  a  fortune  out  of  gambling,  and  he's  not 
ashamed  of  it. 

This  praise  of  Frank  Daroux — if  it  be  praise  and  not  a  mere  statement 
of  fact — will  shock  many  people.  The  idea  of  exalting  a  professional  gambler ! 
Scandalous !  Intolerable ! 

But  is  it  scandalous?  Is  it  intolerable?  You  and  I  may  not  fancy  the 
career  of  a  professional  gambler.  Perhaps  we  haven't  the  brains  necessary 
for  such  a  career.  Perhaps  we  have  the  brains  and  to  spare,  but  are  too 
moral  for  such  a  life.  Very  well.  But  do  we  not  gamble  in  some  way  or 
another?  Do  we  not  sometimes  take  the  profits  of  chance?  Do  we  scorn 
the  dividends  of  a  good  hazard?  Then  let  us  not  be  too  censorious  in  the 
case  of  Frank  Daroux.  Let  us  accept  his  point  of  view  for  a  moment. 
Perhaps  he  may  teach  us  something. 

"Life  is  more  or  less  of  a  gamble,"  says  Frank  Daroux.  "The  doctrine 
of  chance  doesn't  apply  to  cards  and  dice  alone.  Everybody  gambles.  The 

56 


FRANK    DAROUX 


FRANK     DAROUX 

only  question  is,  Are  you  on  the  level?  The  only  rule  of  conduct  is,  Don't 
be  a  welcher.  Pay  when  you  lose.  Don't  play  when  you  can't  afford  to. 
Don't  gamble  with  somebody  else's  money.  And  that  includes  the  money 
that  is  only  partly  yours,  the  money  you  are  bound  in  duty  to  share  with 
your  wife,  your  children,  your  folks  whoever  they  may  be." 

A  pretty  good  rule,  is  it  not?  All  gamblers  with  a  sense  of  honor  follow 
it.  Would  not  life  be  better  if  a  lot  of  us  who  never  touch  a  card,  to  whom 
dice  are  anathema,  who  don't  know  a  roulette  wheel  from  a  faro  bank,  who 
can't  even  pronounce  'baccarat'  and  never  heard  of  chemin  de  fer — would  not 
life  be  better,  more  livable  for  ourselves,  happier  for  those  dependent  upon 
us,  if  we  followed  that  simple  program? 

"You  can't  get  rid  of  gambling  until  you  change  human  nature,"  con 
tinues  Frank  Daroux;  "and  I  haven't  noticed  any  change  in  human  nature 
during  the  years  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  observing  it.  From  what  I 
have  read  it  seems  to  be  pretty  much  the  same  now  as  it  was  when  the 
Romans  used  knuckle  bones  for  dice.  Gambling  is  an  instinct  of  human 
nature.  It  is  a  natural  appetite,  like  the  appetite  for  liquor.  Gambling  will 
be  abolished  about  the  time  the  world  accepts  prohibition,  and  not  a  day 
before. 

"The  authorities  ought  to  regulate  gambling  just  as  they  regulate  saloons. 
There  is  a  gambling  evil  of  course,  but  you  cannot  reach  it  by  abolishing  or 
trying  to  abolish  games  of  chance,  any  more  than  you  can  reach  the  drink 
evil  by  abolishing  the  saloons.  I  say  this  because  I  believe  it,  not  because 
I  expect  to  convert  anybody  to  my  views.  Most  people  will  think  I'm  crazy 
for  saying  it. 

"But  why  don't  such  people  look  around  them  and  think  of  what  they 
observe?  It  is  an  utter  impossibility  to  stop  gambling.  If  men  can't  gamble 
at  roulette  they'll  gamble  in  stocks.  Take  a  roulette  wheel  to  a  church  fair 
and  see  how  many  people  flock  around  it.  Do  they  ever  have  any  trouble 
selling  the  'paddles'  at  a  church  bazaar?  People  love  to  take  a  chance.  They 
are  crazy  to  get  something  for  nothing  or  next  to  nothing.  People  who 
throw  up  their  hands  in  holy  horror  at  the  very  thought  of  a  dice  game  don't 
hesitate  to  play  the  lotteries.  Isn't  that  gambling?  Abolish  cards  and  dice, 
and  men  and  women  will  invent  other  ways  of  gambling.  Look  at  the  boys 
on  the  streets.  If  you  doubled  the  police  force  you  couldn't  stop  them  from 
shooting  craps  or  playing  crusoe. 

"Don't  think  that  I  am  arguing  for  a  wide-open  town.  I  don't  believe 
in  a  wide-open  town.  A  wide-open  town  is  a  very  bad  thing.  But  I  don't 
believe  in  clamping  the  lid  down  tight.  There  ought  to  be  in  San  Francisco 
places  such  as  there  are  in  every  other  large  city  of  the  United  States  and 
Canada,  where  men  who  want  to  and  can  afford  to,  may  indulge  in  a  game 
of  chance. 

"Of  course  there  should  be  protection  for  the  people  who  seem  unable 
to  take  care  of  themselves.  By  all  means  make  it  as  hard  as  possible,  make 
it  impossible  if  you  can  for  the  poor  man,  the  workingman,  the  man  with  the 
tin  lunch  pail,  the  clerk  with  a  salary  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  or  two  hundred 
dollars  to  gamble.  Gambling  is  demoralizing  to  him  because  he  cannot  afford 

59 


VARIED    TYPES 

to  lose  and  when  he  loses  he  is  tempted  to  go  on  gambling  with  other  people's 
money. 

"But  why  shouldn't  the  rich  man  gamble  if  he  pleases?  If  gambling 
fascinates  him,  if  he  likes  the  excitement  of  it,  if  it  is  a  diversion  after  his  hard 
work,  why  shouldn't  he  play  roulette?  He  doesn't  play  for  gain  and  he 
doesn't  care  if  he  loses.  He  can  stand  his  losses.  Why  should  he  be  pre- 
vented from  having  his  game?  Why  shouldn't  there  be  gambling  places  in 
San  Francisco  he  can  go  to?  If  he  wants  to  play  bridge  or  poker  he  can  go 
to  his  club,  for  there  is  this  sort  of  gambling  in  every  club  in  San  Francisco. 
If  he  has  a  desire  for  roulette  or  faro  bank  or  craps,  why  shouldn't  he  be 
able  to  gratify  it?  High  class  gambling  places,  places  which  those  who  can't 
afford  to  play  can't  get  into,  should  be  tolerated.  Let  the  police  keep  their 
eyes  on  these  places,  but  let  them  alone  as  long  as  they  are  conducted 
properly.  There  wouldn't  be  any  graft.  It's  the  small  'piking'  places  that 
are  a  source  of  graft  to  the  policeman  on  the  beat. 

"Ask  the  house  detective  in  the  Palace,  the  St.  Francis,  any  big  hotel, 
and  you'll  find  that  travelers  inquire  every  day  for  a  place  where  they  may 
gamble.  They  gamble  in  New  York,  in  Washington,  in  Chicago,  in  St.  Louis, 
they  gamble  in  Florida;  so  they  don't  see  why  they  shouldn't  gamble  in  San 
Francisco.  If  you  want  to  consider  that  end  of  the  thing,  think  of  the  amount 
of  money  they  would  leave  behind  them  if  there  were  two  or  three  high-class 
places  where  they  could  play  roulette  or  faro.  Men  like  Schwab  would  play 
every  time  they  came  here  if  they  got  a  chance.  I  guess  I'm  through  with 
gambling,  but  if  I  had  a  place  here  I'd  guarantee  not  to  allow  any  San 
Franciscan  to  play  in  it.  There  are  no  such  places  here  now,  but  our  million- 
aires and  rich  men  gamble  every  time  they  go  to  Florida  or  Ostende  or  Monte 
Carlo.  Yes,  and  some  of  them  are  against  gambling  in  San  Francisco  too! 
Foreigners  will  be  very  disappointed  if  they  don't  find  the  opportunity  to 
gamble  here  during  the  Fair.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  real  sentiment  here 
against  having  two  or  three  high-class  places  of  the  sort  I  have  described." 

Perhaps  you  think  Frank  Daroux  is  making  a  special  plea.  And  perhaps 
he  is.  But  don't  forget  that  the  professional  gambler  loses  money.  Frank 
Daroux  ran  a  gambling  outfit  one  night  in  connection  with  a  Foresters' 
Forty-Nine  Mining  Camp  at  Native  Sons'  Hall.  There  were  two  faro  banks, 
three  roulette  wheels  and  three  crap  games.  The  police  stopped  the  games 
on  complaint  of  a  man  who  had  played  and  lost.  If  the  games  had  made 
money  the  Foresters'  Drill  Corps  would  have  profited.  But  the  games  lost 
and  Daroux  was  out  of  pocket  about  $6,000.  He  had  agreed  to  take  the 
losses  or  a  small  percentage  of  the  winnings  for  his  trouble.  The  loss  doesn't 
bother  him.  He  had  $6,000  worth  of  fun,  but  he  says  the  games  were  run  too 
openly,  so  the  police  were  right  in  interfering.  When  the  Hotel  Mens' 
Association  had  its  convention  here  a  couple  of  years  ago  Frank  ran  gambling 
games  for  the  visitors,  and  he  says  the  men  who  came  to  the  convention 
enjoyed  the  gambling  so  much  that  they  are  still  talking  about  it.  Incident- 
ally, the  wives  and  sisters  of  the  hotel  men  from  all  over  the  country  were 
very  indignant  that  they  were  not  allowed  to  play.  So  you  see  women  like 
to  gamble  too. 

60 


FRANK    DAROUX 

I  was  so  interested  in  getting  the  Frank  Daroux  viewpoint  that  I  didn't 
prod  Frank  on  the  reminiscential  side.  Some  day  I'll  get  the  story  of  the 
nineteen  millionaires  who  were  in  one  of  his  roulette  games  at  the  Golden 
Eagle  in  Sacramento.  And  the  story  of  how  he  and  Joe  Harvey  were 
cheated  out  of  $15,000  on  The  Fiddler,  a  "ringer,"  and  paid  it.  Or  going 
further  back,  the  story  of  how  Locomotive  Engineer  Frank  Daroux  gave  up 
his  run  on  the  railroad  between  Wadsworth  and  Winnemucca  to  become 
Professional  Gambler  Frank  Daroux.  For  the  present  let  me  conclude  with 
a  sentence  which  I  commend  to  those  who  are  shocked  that  a  professional 
gambler  should  receive  serious  consideration. 

"Most  of  the  professional  gamblers  I  have  known,"  says  Frank  Daroux, 
"were  good  men  and  especially  charitable  men ;  they  never  refused  anybody 
who  was  in  want;  and  they  were  always  good  to  their  own." 


61 


fCHARLES  DE  YOUNG 


E  IS  just  about  as  tall  as  Napoleon  but  not  nearly  as  stout, 
tj1-s  Bonaparte  of  the  newspaper  world  who  wages  his 
battles  with  printer's  ink  and  slays  ambitions  with  a  blue 
pencil.  He  is  a  twentieth  century  Bonaparte  of  course,  not 
too  fiercely  militant,  by  no  means  enamored  of  slaughter  and 
not  so  reckless  that  he  forgets  at  any  time  to  conserve  the 
resources  which  it  would  be  wasteful  to  throw  away.  In 
other  words,  he  is  a  Chronicle  Napoleon,  is  Charles  de  Young, 
and  has  learned  the  Chronicle  tradition  which  teaches  that  diplomacy  is  the 
better  part  of  war  and  that  peace  hath  her  certain  victories  while  the  god 
of  battle  is  notoriously  fickle. 

Behind  one  of  the  half-curtained  windows  of  the  Chronicle  Building, 
just  off  Market  street,  there  is  a  cosy  little  office  with  an  oaken  roll-top 
desk  and  a  brace  of  telephones.  There  he  sits  while  the  crowd  surges 
hither  and  thither  outside,  stopping  occasionally  to  read  the  latest  bulletin 
about  our  progress  in  this  Panama  Exposition  fight,  the  sort  of  fight  he 
likes,  a  gentleman's  fight  with  gentlemanly  weapons  and  the  stake  so  large 
that  there  is  no  reason  why  anyone  should  become  personal  and  lose  his 
temper  about  it.  He  spends  a  lot  of  time  in  that  cosy  little  office,  does 
Charles  de  Young,  more  time  than  most  millionaire  sons  of  millionaire  papas 
spend  in  their  offices,  and  he  is  free  to  confess  that  he  enjoys  every  minute 
of  it.  He  takes  his  work  very  seriously,  but  after  a  young  man's  fashion, 
not  afraid  to  lower  his  dignity  by  smoking  his  favorite  Turkish  cigarette  as 
he  signs  a  dozen  checks,  confers  with  the  foreman  of  his  press  room  or  gives 
his  views  on  the  handling  of  a  big  news  story. 

He  is  a  young  man,  a  very  young  man ;  but  how  many  young  men  of  his 
years  shoulder  his  responsibilities?  How  many  Napoleons  at  twenty-nine 
have  controlled  the  fighting  machine  which  he  sends  into  action  every  day? 
At  half  past  eight  or  nine  o'clock  every  morning  except  Sunday,  he  is  on 
the  job  and  all  day  thereafter  till  six  in  the  evening  he  stays  with  it,  return- 
ing after  dinner  and  sometimes  not  calling  it  a  day  till  midnight  has  been 
dead  for  an  hour.  In  five  years  he  has  had  just  two  weeks'  vacation,  but  he 
doesn't  complain ;  he  doesn't  want  a  vacation.  There  is  too  much  to  do  and 
he  finds  it  so  well  worth  the  doing  that  he  sees  no  reason  to  shunt  the  task 
onto  somebody  else.  You  see  he  is  a  real  newspaperman ;  he  stands  the 
ultimate  test — his  Saturday  which  is  a  half-day  to  his  millionaire  friends  is  a 
day  and  a  half  for  him. 

I  suppose  Charles  de  Young  is  the  most  educated  newspaperman  in  San 
Francisco.  The  educational  process  started  in  just  as  soon  after  his  birth 
in  the  old  family  home  in  Powell  street — the  interesting  occurrence  was  in 
June,  1881 — just  as  soon  after  that  as  careful  parents  usually  deem  expedient. 

62 


CHARLES    DE    YOUNG 


CHARLES     DE     YOUNG 

He  was  sent  to  the  old  Redding  Primary  and  thereafter  to  the  Pacific  Heights 
Grammar.  He  was  fourteen  years  old  when  he  left  the  grammar  school  and 
went  with  his  family  to  Europe.  In  Paris  he  attended  the  College  de  Ste. 
Croix  conducted  by  the  Brothers  of  the  Holy  Cross  who  taught  him,  among 
many  other  things,  how  to  speak  French  with  the  accent  of  the  boulevards. 
Then  for  a  year  he  studied  at  a  day  school  in  Berlin  where  he  absorbed  more 
knowledge  and  put  the  real  Unter  den  Linden  guttural  twist  on  his  German. 
The  family  returned  home  after  that  and  he  went  to  Belmont  School  to  take 
his  preliminary  dip  in  the  requirements  for  entrance  to  Harvard.  There 
followed  a  year  at  the  Exeter  prep  school  in  New  Hampshire  and  being 
satisfactorily  prepped  by  that  time  he  matriculated  at  Harvard  in  1901.  In 
1905  he  bade  farewell  to  President  Eliot,  both  hands  clasped  lovingly  about 
a  neatly  ribboned  bachelor's  degree  and  his  brain  cells  stored  with  more  in- 
tellectual honey  than  you  could  crowd  into  a  five-foot  shelf  of  India  paper 
classics. 

All  through  this  long  scholastic  novitiate  he  had  kept  his  eye  on  the 
horizon  where  the  clock  on  the  top  of  the  tall  red  Chronicle  Building — it  had 
a  clock  on  it  in  those  days — seemed  pointing  to  the  hour  when  he  was  to 
become  a  journalistic  Napoleon.  He  studied  everything  that  might  come  in 
handy,  specializing  in  English  and  history,  but  absorbing  all  sorts  of  useful 
knowledge.  He  even  made  a  dab  at  geology  which  may  or  may  not  have 
something  to  do  with  the  subsequent  discovery  of  an  artesian  well  under  the 
Chronicle  Building.  But  he  had  the  good  sense  not  to  become  a  highbrow. 
He  talks  more  shop  than  Shakespeare. 

His  career  as  a  newspaper  Napoleon  began  very  modestly.  Instead  of 
training  his  guns  on  the  Tuilleries  he  went  behind  the  Chronicle  counter  and 
trained  his  attention  on  classified  advertising,  subscriptions  and  "stops"  and 
complaints.  He  did  a  little  soliciting,  studied  display  advertising  and  at  night 
hied  him  to  the  editorial  and  mechanical  departments  to  watch  the  wheels 
go  round.  He  was  studying  the  newspaper  game  just  as  that  other  Harvard 
man,  William  Randolph  Hearst,  studied  it  in  the  old  Examiner  office  in  Sacra- 
mento street.  The  inference  is  that  two  men  may  study  in  the  same  way  and 
learn  two  very  different  things. 

Then  the  fire  came  and  M.  H.  de  Young  was  so  busy  attending  to  other 
interests  that  he  decided  to  unload  a  lot  of  his  journalistic  burden  on  the  young 
shoulders  of  his  son.  Charles  was  made  business  manager  at  the  age  of 
twenty-five  which  probably  establishes  a  record  for  business  managers  of 
newspapers.  But  he  is  more  than  a  mere  business  manager.  You  cannot 
limit  a  Napoleon  to  one  part  of  the  field ;  he  must  sweep  it  all.  It  would  be 
more  accurate  to  say  that  Charles  de  Young  is  the  general  manager  of  the 
Chronicle.  He  bosses  the  business  and  mechanical  departments,  but  does  not 
ignore  the  editorial  end  by  any  means.  He  is  consulted  by  his  staff  of  editors 
on  all  important  stories  and  has  a  great  deal  to  say  about  the  proper  method 
of  handling  them.  So  close  is  his  touch  with  news  that  reporters  even  consult 
with  him  over  the  telephone  when  they  are  out  pursuing  it.  And  he  reads  all 
the  papers  through  every  day,  rejoicing  and  commending  when  the  Chronicle 

65 


VARIED     TYPES 

scores  a  beat,  sorrowing  and  dodgasting  when  the  Chronicle  is  scooped,  as  is 
the  way  with  all  newspapermen  in  authority. 

There  is  one  branch  about  which  he  is  eloquent  and  that  is  advertising. 
He  has  decided  ideas  about  getting  personality  into  it,  making  it  sincere, 
convincing.  He  preaches  the  doctrine,  which  may  seem  strange  to  the 
uninitiate  but  not  to  newspapermen,  that  a  merchant  can  advertise  too  much 
and  he  can  give  you  very  strong  reasons  for  agreeing  with  him.  He  would 
rather  talk  about  advertising  than  about  George  Bernard  Shaw,  although, 
come  to  think  of  it,  the  two  subjects  have  a  great  deal  in  common. 

Of  course,  Charles  de  Young's  life  is  not  all  work.  He  likes  the  theatre 
and  does  not  eschew  the  Greenway  dances,  but  the  telephone  operator  always 
knows  where  to  reach  him  and  if  a  press  breaks  down  or  a  big  story  is 
uncovered,  he  considers  it  no  hardship  to  miss  the  fourth  act  or  to  cut  the 
supper  dance,  with  proper  apologies,  of  course.  So  he  is  not  really  a  society 
man.  He  is  too  busy  and  too  interested  in  his  business.  He  belongs  to  the 
San  Mateo  Polo  Club,  but  has  no  time  for  polo;  he  belongs  to  the  Marin 
Golf  and  Country  Club,  but  can't  spare  time  for  the  links;  he  belongs  to  the 
Union  League,  but  is  not  a  politician ;  he  belongs  to  the  Olympic  Club,  but 
seldom  gets  there.  If  he  spends  an  occasional  hour  at  the  Bohemian  Club  or 
the  Family,  at  the  Press  or  the  University,  he  considers  that  he  has  fulfilled 
his  clubby  obligations.  But  when  the  board  of  directors  of  the  Panama- 
Pacific  Exposition  meets  he  is  pretty  sure  to  be  there ;  and  if  we  get  the  Fair, 
just  watch  how  active  he  will  be  on  that  important  sub-committee  in  charge 
of  publicity  and  exploitation. 

Is  he  a  successful  man?  Not  having  access  to  the  balance  sheets  of  The 
Chronicle  I  can  not  give  you  the  figures,  but  I  venture  the  assertion  that 
during  the  last  five  years  the  paper  has  been  doing  very  nicely,  thank  you. 
You  see,  he  bears  the  name  of  one  of  the  greatest  newspapermen  the  West 
ever  knew  or  ever  will  know,  and  he  was  not  christened  in  vain.  I  don't  think 
he  is  satisfied  with  The  Chronicle — he  has  bigger  plans  for  its  future — but 
I  know  that  his  father  is  satisfied  with  him,  proud  of  him,  for  M.  H.  de  Young 
two  years  ago  gave  Charles  an  interest  in  the  paper,  an  actual  financial  in- 
terest. Not  yet  thirty  and  nevertheless  a  conqueror  of  the  sort  of  success 
which  comes  to  most  men  later  in  life — what  is  the  secret  of  it  all?  I  think 
our  young  journalistic  Napoleon  tipped  the  secret  when  he  told  me :  "Toil 
is  no  hardship  when  your  heart  is  in  it.  You  don't  count  the  hours  when  you 
love  your  work." 


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M.  H.  DE  YOUNG 


N  JANUARY,  1915,  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle  was  fifty 
years  of  age.  Started  in  January,  1865,  by  Charles  and  M. 
H.  De  Young,  it  has  never  passed  from  its  original  pro- 
prietorship. M.  H.  De  Young,  therefore,  has  owned  and 
run  a  metropolitan  newspaper  for  half  a  century.  I  do  not 
know  where  you  will  find  such  another  record  in  the  annals 
of  journalism.  To  say  that  M.  H.  De  Young  is  proud  of 
this  record  is  certainly  not  to  err  by  overstatement.  The 
Chronicle  represents  his  lifework.  If  one  may  intrude  for  a  moment  on  a 
poignant  private  tragedy,  it  may  safely  be  said  that  the  grief  of  his  recent 
bereavement  was  intensified  by  the  thought  that  The  Chronicle  was  not  to 
be  also  the  lifework  of  his  son. 

Sitting  in  his  luxurious  office  in  the  Chronicle  Building  M.  H.  De  Young 
looked  back  over  the  Chronicle's  past  and  described  for  me  some  of  the 
pictures  his  memory  drew. 

"My  brother  Charles  and  I,"  he  said,  "started  the  Dramatic  Chronicle 
in  January,  1865.  He  was  the  editor  while  I  set  the  type,  distributed  the 
papers  and  attended  to  business  matters.  The  paper  appeared  on  the  streets 
at  noon  and  was  distributed  free  of  charge.  Many  people  wanted  to  sub- 
scribe for  it  so  that  it  would  be  delivered  at  their  homes,  but  we  had  made 
the  rule  of  free  distribution  and  we  stuck  to  it  inflexibly.  It  was  a  spicy 
paper,  containing  blunt  criticisms  of  other  papers  and  a  great  deal  of  dramatic 
news.  It  was  successful  from  the  start,  and  our  circulation  rose  to  eight 
thousand. 

"From  the  profits  of  the  Dramatic  Chronicle  my  brother  and  I  supported 
our  mother,  paying  all  the  household  expenses.  In  addition  to  this  my 
brother  took  $15  a  week  and  I  took  $10;  but  this  money  we  put  religiously 
into  the  bank.  When  the  profits  increased  we  still  adhered  to  this  practice. 
It  mattered  not  if  we  made  $800  or  $1,000  a  month;  our  weekly  stipend  went 
into  the  bank.  That  money  was  our  nest  egg  and  we  never  touched  it. 

"I  was  only  seventeen,  a  year  and  a  half  younger  than  my  brother, 
when  we  started,  and  I  worked  very  hard.  I  shall  never  forget  the  pleasure 
it  gave  me  after  a  hard  day's  and  a  hard  night's  grind  to  go  to  the  Clipper 
Restaurant  for  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  plate  of  doughnuts.  That  was  a  great 
old  place,  the  Clipper.  It  extended  from  Washington  to  Jackson  street  above 
Sansome,  and  it  was  run  by  the  father  of  Ernest  Stock,  the  veteran  member 
of  the  Call  staff.  Coffee  and  doughnuts  cost  ten  cents  at  the  Clipper,  and 
never  in  my  life  since  have  I  tasted  anything  so  delicious. 

"Men  who  afterwards  became  world-famous  in  literature  contributed  to 
the  Dramatic  Chronicle.  Mark  Twain  made  his  headquarters  in  our  office 
on  Clay  street  below  Sansome.  I  shall  never  forget  his  method  of  compos- 

67 


VARIED     TYPES 

ing,  for  as  I  set  type  I  watched  him  many  a  time  writing  copy  for  the 
Dramatic  Chronicle.  He  was  a  slow  writer  and  paused  for  several  minutes 
between  ideas.  Having  finished  a  sentence  he  would  slowly  and  solemnly 
straighten  up  in  his  chair,  at  the  same  time  bringing  the  hand  which  held  his 
pencil  from  the  paper  into  the  air  until  it  pointed  toward  the  ceiling,  his  eyes 
following  the  same  direction.  He  would  remain  in  this  position  until  he  had 
arranged  his  idea.  Then  the  body  would  bend,  the  arm  would  descend,  just 
as  deliberately,  and  as  soon  as  the  pencil  touched  the  paper  he  would  resume 
writing.  It  was  the  funniest  exhibition  I  ever  saw. 

"Bret  Harte  was  at  that  time  secretary  to  Superintendent  of  the  Mint 
La  Grange,  but  he  contributed  almost  daily  to  the  Dramatic  Chronicle  at  the 
time  when  our  office  was  on  Montgomery  street.  He  would  appear  between 
four  and  five  in  the  afternoon,  entering  the  office  in  a  surreptitious,  carpet- 
slippered  sort  of  way  and  bringing  articles  containing  sharp  criticisms  of 
editors  and  public  men.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  curiosity  about  these 
articles,  but  we  kept  the  identity  of  the  author  carefully  concealed. 

"The  Dramatic  Chronicle  continued  for  three  years  and  a  half,  or  until 
September,  1868.  During  that  time  many  men  came  to  my  brother  and 
myself  and  offered  to  advance  money  to  turn  it  into  a  morning  paper.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  first  to  make  this  offer.  It  was  Aleck  Badlam.  He 
entered  our  office  one  day  and  he  said  he  would  hand  us  $50,000  if  we  would 
make  a  morning  paper  of  the  Dramatic  Chronicle  and  give  him  a  half  interest. 
The  offer  was  declined. 

"The  next  was  Loring  Pickering,  owner  of  the  Bulletin.  He  thought  it 
unwise  to  have  all  his  money  in  an  evening  paper,  and  wanted  to  invest  in 
a  morning  paper.  He  offered  to  capitalize  us  if  we  made  a  morning  paper  of 
the  Dramatic  Chronicle.  Again  we  declined,  telling  him  that  if  we  started 
a  morning  paper  we  would  do  it  with  our  own  money  and  would  retain  the 
whole  profit  of  our  energy. 

"At  that  time  there  were  six  owners  of  the  Morning  Call.  One  of  them 
was  George  Barnes,  the  dramatic  critic.  Pickering,  not  being  able  to  get 
an  interest  in  our  paper,  bought  Barnes  out.  And  with  the  money  he  re- 
ceived Barnes  came  to  my  brother  and  myself,  offering  to  invest  it  if  we 
would  start  a  morning  paper.  This  offer  also  we  declined. 

"In  September,  1868,  we  had  saved  enough  money  to  proceed  alone,  so 
we  turned  the  noon-day  Dramatic  Chronicle  into  the  Morning  Chronicle.  At 
that  time  there  were  three  other  morning  papers :  the  American  Flag  run  by 
a  southern  gentleman  named  McCarthy  who  hammered  everybody  in  town, 
the  Alta  California  and  the  Call.  The  evening  papers  were  the  Bulletin  and 
the  Democratic  Press  which  was  run  by  Phil  Roach  and  Penn  Johnstone 
as  a  'secesh'  organ  until  a  mob  wrecked  the  office  when  Lincoln  was  assas- 
sinated, whereupon  the  Democratic  Press  was  changed  to  the  Morning 
Examiner. 

"The  Morning  Chronicle  was  the  first  paper  in  the  country  to  publish 
a  Sunday  edition  of  the  sort  so  familiar  nowadays.  We  made  a  Sunday 
feature  of  dramatic  news,  devoting  two  pages  to  this,  and  giving  the  entire 

68 


M.     H.     DE    YOUNG 


M.     H.     DE     YOUNG 

first  page  to  letters  from  our  special  European  correspondents.  These 
features  made  the  Chronicle  very  popular. 

"At  that  time  the  papers  sold  for  ten  cents  on  the  streets  and  at  the 
news  stands  in  the  hotels  and  stationery  stores.  We  decided  that  it  was 
ridiculous  to  deliver  the  paper  at  peoples'  homes  for  two  cents  a  day  and 
at  the  same  time  charge  ten  cents  for  it  on  the  streets.  So  we  reduced  the 
price  to  five  cents.  It  was  a  hard  fight.  The  newsboys  and  the  stationery 
stores  opposed  us.  We  billed  the  town  with  posters  announcing  the  re- 
duction in  price,  but  as  fast  as  we  put  the  posters  up  the  newsboys  tore 
them  down.  It  took  us  months  to  win  that  fight,  but  ultimately  all  the  other 
papers  had  to  follow  our  example. 

"There  were  a  great  many  men  on  the  Chronicle  in  those  early  days  who 
afterwards  rose  to  high  distinction.  Our  first  editorial  writer  was  Henry 
George,  the  author  of  'Progress  and  Poverty.'  Other  editorial  writers  were 
Frank  Pixley  and  Sam  Seabough,  the  great  anti-railroad  fighter  who  was 
fired  from  the  Sacramento  Union  when  the  railroad  bought  that  paper  and 
immediately  went  on  with  the  fight  in  the  Chronicle. 

"We  sent  Charles  Warren  Stoddard  around  the  world  and  published  his 
letters  every  Sunday.  Our  London  letter  was  written  by  Anna  Cora 
Mowatt  Ritchie,  an  American  woman  living  in  London.  Our  Paris  corre- 
spondent was  Henry  Hayne,  and  our  Berlin  correspondent  was  an  attache 
of  the  German  court  who  wrote  secretly  for  us  under  the  name  of  Octave 
Hensel. 

"My  brother  was  the  editor,  and  I  never  interfered  with  his  department 
except  when  he  was  away  and  I  had  full  charge.  During  a  trip  he  made  to 
Europe  I  started  the  'apprentice  reporter'  system.  The  idea  was  to  take 
beginners  on  trial,  raising  their  salaries  every  three  months.  At  the  end  of 
two  years  they  were  either  full  fledged  reporters  or  they  were  fired.  The  first* 
two  apprentice  reporters  I  put  on  were  Harry  Dam  and  Ned  Townsend, 
afterwards  the  author  of  'Chimmie  Fadden.'  They  were  just  out  of  the 
University  of  California,  and  they  made  good.  Dam  was  the  Beau  Brummel 
of  the  staff,  and  I  had  to  suspend  him  once  for  a  month  because  he  neglected 
a  detail  to  attend  a  crack  masquerade  at  the  California  Theatre. 

"The  Bohemian  Club  was  organized  in  the  Chronicle  office  by  Tommy 
Newcombe,  Sutherland,  Dan  O'Connell,  Harry  Dam  and  others  who  were 
members  of  the  staff.  The  boys  wanted  a  place  where  they  could  get 
together  after  work,  and  they  took  a  room  on  Sacramento  street  below 
Kearny.  That  was  the  start  of  the  Bohemian  Club,  and  it  was  not  an  un- 
mixed blessing  for  the  Chronicle  because  the  boys  would  go  there  sometimes 
when  they  should  have  reported  at  the  office.  Very  often  when  Dan 
O'Connell  sat  down  to  a  good  dinner  there  he  would  forget  that  he  had  a 
pocketful  of  notes  for  an  important  story. 

"Secretary  of  the  Interior  Franklin  K.  Lane  was  a  reporter  on  the 
Chronicle.  We  sent  him  to  New  York  as  our  representative,  but  he  was  too 
interested  in  Single  Tax  to  attend  strictly  to  his  duties.  There  were  many 
complaints  that  he  wasn't  supplying  us  with  news  of  San  Franciscans  in 

71 


VARIED     TYPES 

New  York,  but  I  didn't  know  what  the  trouble  was  until  I  went  into  the 
New  York  office  one  night  and  found  a  stranger  in  charge.  I  asked  where 
Lane  was  and  was  told  that  he  was  over  in  Orange  making  a  speech.  An- 
other man  took  Lane's  place  shortly  after  that. 

"William  Laffan,  afterwards  owner  and  editor  of  the  New  York  Sun, 
was  a  reporter  on  the  Chronicle.  He  made  his  reputation  on  the  Chronicle 
by  exposing  the  Davenport  Brothers.  They  were  fakers  who  gave  seances, 
and  one  of  their  favorite  tricks  was  to  'materialize'  guitars  which  were  seen 
floating  in  the  air  in  the  darkened  theatre  and  filled  the  credulous  with  awe, 
the  Davenport  Brothers  having  first  been  tied  up  in  their  cabinets.  When 
they  appeared  in  San  Francisco  Laffan  sent  a  number  of  men  into  the 
gallery  with  pie  plates,  platinum  wire  and  a  certain  acid.  When  the  guitars 
had  been  'materialized'  Laffan  clapped  his  hands,  the  men  poured  the  acid 
over  the  platinum  in  the  pie  plates  and  the  theatre  was  brightly  illuminated 
by  the  flashlights.  The  Davenport  Brothers  had  slipped  their  bonds  and 
were  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  stage  waving  guitars  which  had  been 
rubbed  with  phosphorus,  at  arm's  length  over  their  heads.  It  was  a  great 
story  for  the  Chronicle." 

At  this  point  in  his  reminiscences  Mr.  De  Young's  telephone  rang,  and 
there  was  a  short  but  lively  conversation. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  as  he  hung  up  the  receiver,  "but  we'll  have  to  bring 
this  interview  to  an  end.  My  granddaughter  Patsy  insists  that  I  come  home 
and  have  a  romp  with  her,  and  I've  got  to  go." 


72 


FRANK  C.  DREW 


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O  KNOW  a  man  in  his  public  relations  is  to  see  only  one 
side  of  him.  It  may  or  may  not  be  the  better,  the  more 
important  side;  it  is  seldom  the  more  interesting. 

Take  Frank  Drew,  for  instance.  It  is  very  well  to 
know  Frank  Drew  as  a  member  of  a  law  firm  and  as  a 
business  m^n  with  great  lumber  interests.  Those  who  find 
delight  in  such  things  may  appraise  his  standing  at  the  bar, 
his  skill  as  a  financier.  But  you  might  know  Frank  Drew 
as  a  public  man  for  a  long  time,  and  still  be  ignorant  of  his  ardor  for 
Esperanto.  When  you  learn  that  fact  about  his  private  life  you  sit  up  and 
take  a  notice  of  Frank  Drew  which  you  would  not  accord  to  his  more  prosaic 
activities.  There  are  many  good  lawyers  and  able  financiers;  there  are  so 
few  Esperantists. 

In  San  Francisco,  aside  from  Frank  Drew,  the  only  followers  of  Dr. 
Zamenhof  whose  names  I  can  recall  are  former  Judge  Daingerfield  and  the 
late  Judge  Treadwell.  But  in  the  city  of  Athenian  culture  across  the  bay 
there  is  quite  a  group  which  includes  prominent  railroad  men  and  civil 
engineers.  You  never  know  when  you  are  going  to  run  across  somebody 
who  speaks  the  ingeniously  constructed  and  thoroughly  practical  inter- 
national language.  That  must  be  part  of  the  charm  of  mastering  it.  In 
this  connection  Frank  Drew  told  me  a  story. 

"Dr.  Yemans,  a  student  of  Esperanto  who  is  now  with  the  army  in 
Manila,  was  crossing  the  Atlantic  to  America  at  the  same  time  that  a 
delegation  of  Esperantists  was  journeying  from  this  country  to  the  Esperanto 
Congress  at  Antwerp.  He  sent  them  a  pleasant  message  in  Esperanto  by 
wireless.  Before  the  delegates  on  the  other  steamer  had  a  chance  to  reply, 
the  wireless  operator  who  had  received  the  message  flashed  an  answer  to 
Dr.  Yemans  in  Esperanto,  stating  that  the  doctor's  and  his  were  the  first 
wireless  messages  in  Esperanto  ever  exchanged  at  sea.  Now  who  would 
expect  a  wireless  operator  to  know  Esperanto? 

"In  this  connection,"  continued  Drew,  "it  may  be  mentioned  among  the 
advantages  of  Esperanto  that  if  it  were  adopted  for  the  international  wireless 
code  there  would  be  no  such  disastrous  mistakes  as  occurred  recently  when 
the  English,  the  Japanese  and  the  Norwegian  operators  misunderstood  the 
messages  which  they  were  exchanging. 

"Esperanto  supplies  a  common  ground  of  intercourse  on  which  all 
people  can  meet.  In  traveling  it  is  invaluable.  All  over  the  world  there  are 
clubs  or  groups  of  Esperantists,  and  if  the  traveler  wears  in  his  buttonhole 
the  little  green  star  which  is  the  Esperanto  emblem,  he  will  come  in  contact 
everywhere  with  interesting  people  whom  otherwise  he  would  be  unable 
to  converse  with. 

73 


VARIED    TYPES 

"Once  in  Chalons-sur-Marne  I  met  a  French  army  officer  named  Dr. 
Jenny.  He  knew  no  English  and  at  the  time  I  knew  no  French,  and  yet 
we  had  a  delightful  conversation  for  half  an  hour  in  Esperanto.  The  first 
ten  minutes  of  our  talk  were  a  bit  unsatisfactory,  but  after  that  it  was  smooth 
sailing. 

"There  is  absolutely  no  other  common  means  of  communication.  During 
the  past  few  years  I  have  corresponded  with  people  who  spoke  twenty-one 
different  foreign  languages,  but  no  English.  Using  Esperanto  I  have  been 
able  to  exchange  letters  with  men  whose  native  tongues  were  French, 
German,  Spanish,  Italian,  Portuguese,  Danish,  Dutch,  Norwegian,  Swedish, 
Russian,  Polish,  Czech,  Dalmatian,  Magyar,  Arabian,  Syrian,  Chinese, 
Slovak,  Javanese,  Hindustanee  and  Greek.  Without  Esperanto  that  would 
be  impossible. 

"Esperanto  has  come  to  stay.  This  is  particularly  evident  in  Europe. 
You  will  find  Esperanto  books  and  pamphlets  at  the  railway  stations, 
especially  in  Russia,  Poland  and  Bohemia.  In  Belgium  the  government  has 
encouraged  the  study  ever  since  the  Esperanto  Congress  was  held  in 
Antwerp.  In  that  city  the  policemen  speak  it,  and  so  do  the  conductors 
on  the  street  cars.  The  cars  contain  signs  and  notices  in  Esperanto. 

"More  than  that,  Esperanto  is  the  international  means  of  communication 
used  by  the  anarchists  of  Europe.  When  Francisco  Ferrer  was  arrested 
by  the  Spanish  authorities  he  had  on  his  person  a  kodak  and  an  Esperanto 
grammar.  Now  if  the  forces  of  evil  use  Esperanto  to  advance  their  cause, 
it  will  be  necessary  for  the  opposing  forces  of  good  to  fight  them  with  it. 
If  anarchy  is  to  be  combatted  by  arguments,  pamphlets  and  so  forth, 
Esperanto  must  be  used,  for  there  is  no  other  way  of  appealing  at  one  and 
the  same  time  to  people  of  different  nationalities.  The  use  which  the 
anarchists  make  of  Esperanto  shows  that  it  has  ceased  to  be  a  fad ;  it  is 
an  eminently  practical  means  of  communication. 

"The  world  is  alive  to  the  need  of  a  universal  auxiliary  language.  Some 
think  that  the  tendency  is  to  use  French  for  this  purpose.  But  there  are 
serious  objections  to  French.  It  is  impossible  for  the  ordinary  adult  to 
learn  to  pronounce  French  correctly,  or  even  to  write  it  correctly,  there  are 
so  many  idioms.  The  same  thing  is  true  of  English.  Both  are  objectionable 
too  on  account  of  international  jealousies.  And  the  same  thing  applies  to 
German.  For  instance,  would  the  Germans  be  willing  to  use  French?  Would 
the  English  be  willing  to  adopt  German? 

"Esperanto,  on  the  other  hand,  is  easy  to  learn.  I  am  still  studying  it, 
but  I  obtained  a  working  knowledge  of  it  by  devoting  one  hour  a  night  to 
its  study  for  six  weeks.  At  the  end  of  that  time  I  could  read  and  write  it 
with  a  good  deal  of  ease. 

"You  see,  there  are  no  idioms  in  Esperanto.  And  there  will  be  none. 
There  are  no  exceptions  to  its  grammatical  rules.  It  does  away  with 
irregular  verbs  which  are  such  a  terror  to  people  attempting  to  learn 
French  and  other  European  languages.  There  is  no  such  difficulty  as  the 
student  has  with  the  German  pronouns  either. 

"Esperanto  has  a  literature  of  its  own.     I  recall  a  novel  called  'The 

74 


FRANK     C.     DREW 


FRANK     C.     DREW 

Pharaoh'  in  three  volumes  which  describes  the  Egyptian  life  of  ancient  days 
with  its  religious  doctrines,  ceremonies  and  so  on.  Esperanto  is  capable  of 
describing  such  scenes  and  incidents  just  as  minutely  as  any  of  our  mother 
tongues.  It  can  convey  the  various  shades  of  meaning;  the  delicate 
distinctions  between  our  own  synonyms  can  all  be  expressed. 

"Esperanto  also  has  a  large  translated  literature.  The  Bible  has  been 
translated  into  Esperanto.  So  have  a  number  of  Shakespeare's  plays, 
notably  Hamlet,  Julius  Caesar  and  The  Tempest.  Goldsmith's  She  Stoops 
to  Conquer  is  in  Esperanto;  so  are  Schiller's  dramas  and  many  Polish 
novels.  In  addition  there  are  many  medical  journals,  mathematical  and 
other  scientific  treatises.  The  advantage  of  Esperanto  for  scientific  works 
is  obvious.  How  many  great  treatises  invaluable  to  physicians  and  others 
are  beyond  the  reach  of  students  because  they  are  in  a  foreign  tongue! 
Sometimes  these  works  are  not  translated  for  years;  sometimes  the  great 
expense  prevents  them  from  being  translated  at  all.  If  they  were  written 
in  Esperanto,  as  the  scholars  of  old  wrote  their  books  in  Latin,  they  would 
be  immediately  available  for  all  nations. 

"But  one  of  the  greatest  goods  which  would  come  out  of  the  use  of 
Esperanto  was  that  which  Dr.  Zamenhof  had  in  mind  when  he  invented  it. 
He  was  a  college  student  at  Warsaw,  and  was  painfully  aware  of  the  racial, 
political  and  religious  misunderstanding  which  kept  the  students  in  a  constant 
state  of  warfare.  He  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if  they  had  a  common 
means  of  communication  much  of  this  misunderstanding  would  cease. 
Esperanto  was  the  result.  Dr.  Zamenhof  is  a  great  oculist,  but  he  has  lost 
thousands  of  dollars  because  his  heart  is  in  Esperanto  and  he  answers  the 
call  of  the  cause  whenever  it  comes,  forgetting  his  professional  work. 

"It  is  very  important  to  remember  that  Esperanto  is  not  to  be  used  as 
a  substitute  for  any  language.  It  is  an  auxiliary  language.  When  Esperanto 
is  universally  used,  every  man  will  have  two  languages,  his  own  and 
Esperanto." 

"Do  you  think  it  will  be  universally  used?"  I  asked. 

"I  do,"  answered  Drew.  "Esperanto  has  a  great  future.  The  most 
serious  obstacle  to  its  immediate  adoption  by  the  intellectual  world  consists 
in  the  many  innovations  attempted  by  cranks,  faddists  and  egotists  who 
either  want  to  improve  on  Zamenhof's  invention  or  to  substitute  one  of  their 
own.  Esperanto  undoubtedly  can  be  improved  in  some  respects,  but  this 
is  not  the  time  to  make  any  changes.  Until  it  is  adopted  as  a  universal 
auxiliary  language  there  should  be  no  changes.  Afterwards  a  World's 
Congress  could  be  called  together  for  the  purpose  of  making  needed  reforms." 

"Are  Americans  putting  it  to  any  practical  use?"  I  asked. 

For  answer  Frank  Drew  handed  me  an  illustrated  pamphlet  written  in 
Esperanto.  It  was  a  pamphlet  issued  by  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  of  Los 
Angeles  and  was  devoted  to  glowing  accounts  of  the  many  advantages  of 
life  in  Southern  California. 

"That  pamphlet  will  be  read  by  people  in  every  corner  of  the  world," 
said  Drew.  "That's  practical  enough,  isn't  it?" 

Why  doesn't  the  San  Francisco  Chamber  of  Commerce  take  the  hint? 

77 


DENNIS  M.  DUFFY 


HOLD,"  says  Dennis  M.  Duffy,  president  of  the  State  Prison 
Commission,  "I  hold  that  the  offender  should  be  saved 
rather  than  reformed.  The  best  time  to  deal  with  the  law- 
breaker is  before  the  gate  of  the  penitentiary  closes  behind 
him." 

Colonel  Duffy  is  a  working  penologist.  He  is  an  expert 
on  prisons  and  their  inmates  because  he  devoted  himself 
heart  and  soul  to  the  subject  during  his  career  of  distinction 
on  the  Prison  Board.  He  is  full  of  his  specialty.  He  thinks  about  prison 
work,  talks  about  it  all  the  time.  Meet  him  in  Market  street  and  engage 
him  in  conversation  on  the  topic  most  remote  from  prison  work — he'll 
have  the  conversation  around  to  his  chief  interest  before  you  know 
it.  A  good  part  of  every  day  he  devotes  to  prison  affairs.  The  mothers, 
fathers,  sisters,  brothers,  sons,  daughters,  wives  and  sweethearts  of  convicts 
elbow  clients  in  his  law  office.  And  none  goes  away  without  a  hearing.  Such 
a  man  is  bound  to  have  valuable  ideas  about  penology  which  is  a  science  for 
practical  men,  not  theorists.  All  Colonel  Duffy's  ideas  are  the  fruit  of 
experience.  I  don't  believe  he  has  ever  sat  down  to  formulate  a  prison  theory. 
He  observes  the  ways  of  prisoners,  he  studies  the  viewpoint  of  prisoners,  he 
extracts  their  histories,  he  tries  to  fathom  their  thoughts.  And  because  he 
is  deeply  sympathetic  with  prisoners,  he  succeeds  with  them  where  others 
blunder  and  fail.  So  when  Colonel  Duffy  says  that  prison  work  should  begin 
outside  prison  walls  he  is  talking  what  he  knows,  not  uttering  glittering 
paradox. 

"It  is  easier,"  continues  Colonel  Duffy,  "to  reform  a  free  man  than  it  is 
to  reform  a  prisoner.  But  it  is  more  important  still  to  reform  society.  When 
we  succeed  in  reforming  the  attitude  of  society  toward  the  law-breaker,  there 
will  not  be  so  many  men  in  prison  as  there  are  today. 

"Society  must  be  taught  to  give  the  law-breaker  a  chance.  It  must  learn 
to  change  its  attitude  toward  him  whether  he  goes  to  prison  or  not.  What 
we  need  most  of  all  is  a  wise  and  liberal  administration  of  the  probation  law. 
In  the  hands  of  a  judge  who  knows  how  to  be  generous  and  at  the  same 
time  firm  in  its  application,  the  probation  law  is  a  great  instrument  of  good. 
"Every  wise  measure  should  be  used  to  save  a  man  from  prison  when 
there  is  a  chance  to  reclaim  him  without  incarceration.  There  are  many  men 
serving  sentences  at  present  who  were  convicted  of  crimes  that  were  not 
crimes  at  all  a  few  years  ago.  In  this  class  of  convicts,  imprisoned  for 
offenses  which  are  not  crimes  at  Common  Law,  the  wise  mercy  of  the  judge 
should  be  brought  to  bear.  Take  for  instance  the  young  man  who  passes  a 
bad  check.  Most  bad  checks  are  passed  in  saloons  by  men  under  the  influence 
of  liquor,  and  the  money  raised  on  them  is  almost  invariably  spent  for  more 

78 


DENNIS     M.     DUFFY 


DENNIS     M.     DUFFY 

liquor.  Such  cases  are  never  prosecuted  unless  the  bad  check  passer  fails 
to  make  good.  Now  it  is  not  a  felony  to  embezzle  a  sum  under  fifty  dollars, 
but  a  man  may  be  convicted  of  felony  and  sent  to  State's  prison  for  passing 
a  bad  check  for  one  dollar.  In  fact  the  men  serving  terms  for  this  offense 
have  usually  passed  a  check  for  fifteen  or  twenty  dollars — that  is  the  average 
amount.  Does  it  not  seem  too  bad  that  a  man  should  be  branded  a  convict 
for  this  offense?  Why  could  he  not  be  released  on  probation  and  be  allowed 
to  earn  money  to  make  restitution  for  his  offense  and  at  the  same  time 
contribute  to  the  support  of  those  dependent  on  him  instead  of  being  sent 
to  prison?  It  would  be  better  for  the  offender  and  better  for  society.  And 
in  this  connection,  why  should  there  not  be  some  regulation,  say  by  the 
police  commission,  of  this  check  cashing  in  saloons?  Many  saloon  keepers 
make  it  a  rule  not  to  cash  checks.  When  men  they  know  ask  to  have  a 
check  cashed  the  saloon  keepers  lend  them  the  money  instead.  If  saloon 
keepers  were  prohibited  from  cashing  checks  under  penalty  of  a  revocation 
of  their  license,  many  young  men  would  be  saved  from  the  penitentiary. 

"In  this  connection  one  of  the  greatest  judicial  wrongs  of  today  should 
be  mentioned.  I  refer  to  the  short  sentence  which  so  many  judges  impose 
in  lieu  of  probation.  The  short  sentence  imposed  on  men  who  could  be  given 
probation  too  often  makes  those  men  confirmed  convicts.  It  takes  from  them 
that  something,  call  it  nerve,  courage,  manhood,  what  you  will,  which  can 
never  be  returned.  Too  often  the  short  sentence  is  imposed  because  the  judge 
hesitates  to  grant  probation  for  fear  of  alienating  public  opinion.  The  short 
sentence  is  a  compromise  between  the  judge's  conscience  and  expediency. 

"Next  to  saving  men  from  going  to  prison  the  most  helpful  feature  of 
prison  work  today  consists  in  restoring  the  convict  to  society  after  his  debt 
to  justice  has  been  paid.  The  greatest  instrument  for  good  in  this  work  is 
our  parole  law.  Our  parole  law  is  good,  but  it  is  not  and  cannot  be  properly 
administered  under  present  conditions.  The  Prison  Commissioners,  serving 
without  salary,  give  one  day  a  week  to  prison  work,  and  in  hearing  applica- 
tions for  parole  they  must  depend  on  the  reports  of  wardens  and  other  prison 
officials  who  are  quite  likely  to  make  honest  mistakes.  The  men  who 
administer  the  parole  law  should  live  in  the  prisons  where  they  can  study  the 
convicts  at  first  hand  and  talk  to  them  in  the  yard  as  man  to  man.  The 
prisoner  is  not  at  himself,  he  is  embarrassed  and  nervous  when  called  before 
a  body  of  men  who  judge  him  by  the  impression  of  a  single  interview. 

"But  when  a  man  has  been  paroled  the  real  test  begins,  not  only  for  the 
man  but  for  society.  And  here  there  is  much  to  be  desired  in  the  attitude  of 
society.  The  men  who  are  most  eager  to  make  good  and  to  regain  the 
position  they  have  lost  are,  unfortunately,  the  men  whom  society  is  least 
willing  to  take  back.  I  refer  to  the  men  who  have  been  convicted  of  murder 
and  other  crimes  of  violence,  men  who  had  led  good  lives  until  they  were 
betrayed  into  violence  by  the  heat  of  passion.  It  is  very  difficult  for  such 
men  to  get  a  real  start  after  they  have  been  paroled. 

"They  are  not  helped  at  all  by  the  professional  philanthropist.  It  is  not 
the  professional  philanthropist,  the  man  or  woman  who  engages  in  prison 
work  for  the  money  or  the  glory  in  it,  who  helps  such  ex-convicts,  but  the 

81 


VARIED    TYPES 

unostentatious,  unpretentious  citizen  who  holds  out  a  helping  hand  without 
a  brass  band  accompaniment.  The  professional  philanthropist  is  insistent 
that  prison  be  made  more  attractive.  He  overlooks  the  fact  that  it  is  more 
important  to  give  men  work  on  their  release  from  prison  than  to  make  prison 
attractive  for  them  while  they  are  in.  The  professional  philanthropist  is 
forever  insisting  that  this  or  that  convict  be  paroled,  but  when  you  apply 
the  acid  test  by  asking,  'What  employment  will  you  give  him  when  he  goes 
out?'  you  are  met  with  a  shrug  or  a  frown  or  an  'I'm  sorry'  or  a  'How  can 
you  expect  me  to  employ  a  man  like  that?'  As  a  matter  of  fact,  despite  all 
you  hear  about  the  slowness  of  the  Prison  Board  to  grant  paroles,  there  are 
every  month  eight  or  ten  or  twelve  men  entitled  to  parole  but  detained  in 
prison  because  nobody  has  come  forward  to  promise  them  suitable  employ- 
ment. I  am  putting  the  number  as  low  as  possible.  Some  months  there  are 
fifteen  or  twenty.  The  Prison  Board  is  more  generous  to  parole  than  society 
is  to  receive  the  paroled  men. 

"The  parole  system  has  had  an  excellent  effect  on  prison  discipline.  It 
helps  the  prison  to  run  itself.  It  has  aroused  a  spirit  of  co-operation  between 
the  prisoner  and  the  prison  official.  It  has  a  greater  influence  than  religion 
which,  I  regret  to  say,  is  not  the  large  factor  in  prison  which  one  would  like 
it  to  be.  The  prisoners  show  the  utmost  respect  for  clergymen  who  visit  the 
prison,  but  they  are  usually  indifferent  to  religious  influence.  Religion  suffers 
in  prison  from  religious  pretenders  among  the  prisoners,  hypocrites  who  are 
serving  terms  for  horrible  offenses  and  who  pretend  to  be  devout — men  who 
perhaps  used  religion  to  aid  them  in  their  horrible  crimes  and  continue  to 
use  it  in  prison  in  the  hope  of  expediting  their  release.  A  large  percentage 
of  those  in  prison  for  rape  and  offenses  against  children  are  religious 
pretenders.  Unfortunately  the  other  prisoners  are  apt  to  judge  religion  by 
these  hypocritical  devotees. 

"But  the  parole  system  is  a  real  influence  for  good.  It  is  perhaps  due 
to  this  system  that  so  many  convicts  are  well  behaved.  Ninety-five  per  cent 
of  the  prisoners  are  trying  all  the  time  to  observe  the  rules  of  prison  discipline. 
Most  of  them  do  this  because  they  are  impelled  by  their  better  natures  so  to 
do;  the  rest  are  actuated  by  the  hope  of  parole.  Under  the  parole  law  a 
prisoner  starts  to  work  his  way  out  as  soon  as  he  lands  in  prison. 

"Has  my  faith  in  human  nature  suffered  by  my  prison  work?  Certainly 
not!  It  has  been  increased.  It  has  increased  my  inclination  to  give  men  a 
chance.  There  are  failures,  there  are  bitter  disappointments,  but  when  you 
consider  that  eighty  per  cent  of  the  paroled  men  make  good  and  that  only 
two  and  six-tenths  per  cent  of  them  return  to  prison  for  new  offenses,  you 
will  see  that  an  abounding  faith  in  human  nature  is  justified. 

"When  you  contrast  some  prison  officials  with  some  prisoners,  there  is 
no  reason  to  lack  faith  in  the  prisoners.  I  have  known  a  minister  at  the 
prison  who  sold  pardons.  I  have  known  a  superintendent  of  construction  who 
robbed  the  State.  I  have  known  a  lieutenant  of  the  yard,  a  man  who  held 
steadfastly  to  the  theory  that  no  convict  could  be  reformed  and  who  took 
an  unholy  joy  in  the  discovery  of  a  recidivist,  I  have  known  such  a  man  to  rob 
prisoners.  When  keepers  are  crooked,  why  not  give  convicts  a  chance?" 

82 


MILTON  H.  ESBERG 


HE  PEOPLE  don't  elect  a  man  Mayor  of  San  Francisco 
that  he  may  play  politics.  They  elect  him  because  they 
think  he  will  prove  a  strong  executive.  If  the  man  cherishes 
hidden  political  aspirations  or  develops  them  after  he  gets 
into  office,  the  people  lose  confidence  in  him.  Those  officials 
who  are  least  ardent  for  political  advancement  are  the  most 
successful  in  the  end.  In  other  words,  glory  comes  to  him 
who  seeks  it  least." 
Milton  H.  Esberg,  vice-president  and  general  manager  of  the  M.  A. 
Gunst  Cigar  Company,  was  a  member  of  the  Municipal  Conference  which 
dominated  politics  in  the  last  mayoralty  campaign.  He  was  on  the  nominat- 
ing and  indorsing  board  which  put  Rolph  into  the  fight.  He  was  active  on 
the  campaign  committee.  In  a  very  special  sense  therefore  he  is  one  of  the 
men  responsible  for  the  present  municipal  administration  insofar  as  it  has 
been  shaped  by  Mayor  Rolph.  And  yet  Milton  Esberg  speaks  of  Mayor 
Rolph  in  the  language  I  have  just  set  down  in  quotation  marks. 

It  is  a  matter  of  common  knowledge  that  Mayor  Rolph  has  alienated  a 
large  percentage  of  the  men  who  were  active  in  his  campaign.  Out  in  his 
own  part  of  the  city  a  number  of  these  formed  a  hostile  organization  known 
as  "The  Missionites."  Downtown  there  is  no  hostile  organization,  but  feel- 
ing is  none  the  less  pronounced.  Rolph  has  disappointed  his  sponsors. 

A  great  many  of  those  sponsors  are  members  of  the  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce. Rolph  was  much  to  the  fore  in  that  body  before  he  became  Mayor. 
He  was  president  of  the  Merchants  Exchange  which  has  been  absorbed  by 
the  larger  body.  His  activities  were  in  harmony  with  the  activities  of  the 
Chamber  of  Commerce.  Yet  he  calls  its  members  "obstructionists"  and 
threatens,  in  the  vivid  language  beloved  of  politicians,  to  "knock  their  blocks 
off."  Obviously,  a  change  has  come  over  the  relations  between  the  Mayor 
and  his  former  associates.  What  is  the  reason?  I  went  to  Milton  Esberg 
and  asked  him  about  it.  He  ought  to  know  if  anybody  does,  for  he  is  chair- 
man of  the  executive  committee  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce. 

"Mayor  Rolph,"  says  Esberg,  "seems  to  feel  that  any  criticism  of  public 
work  or  any  suggestion  for  public  improvement,  whether  made  by  a  civic 
organization  or  by  an  individual  in  high  repute,  is  an  act  of  hostility  toward 
himself.  He  seems  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  people  may  be  honestly 
interested  in  the  improvement  of  current  methods  or  in  the  cure  of  inef- 
ficiency. He  seems  not  to  recognize  that  a  citizen  or  a  civic  body,  knowing 
that  in  the  end  the  taxpayer  always  pays  for  incompetence,  has  a  perfect 
right  to  show  how  money  may  be  saved  and  serious  inconvenience  prevented. 
"And  so  it  happens  that  when  an  organization  like  the  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce, after  its  student  committee  has  gone  into  the  matter  and  has  pre- 
sented absolute  facts  gathered  by  unpaid  men  who  have  taken  time  from  their 


83 


VARIED     TYPES 

own  business,  successful  men  who  are  disposed  to  do  something  for  the  com- 
munity, who  have  civic  pride,  who  want  efficiency  and  who  dream  of  a  model 
city — when  an  organization  like  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  reports  that 
money  is  being  wasted  and  points  out  means  to  check  the  waste,  our  Mayor 
declares  that  they  are  officious  and  have  a  political  ax  to  grind. 

"Why  cannot  our  Mayor,  why  cannot  all  government  officials  welcome 
suggestions  from  the  outside?  Why  cannot  they  realize  that  they  are  only 
holding  office  as  the  managers  of  a  big  business  while  the  citizens  and  tax- 
payers are  the  stockholders  of  the  business?  Somehow  or  other  they  don't 
understand  that.  From  being  democratic  their  viewpoint  becomes  oligarchic. 

"What  we  want  in  municipal  as  in  every  business  is  efficiency.  Are  we 
getting  it?  It  is  my  opinion  that  the  affairs  of  this  municipality  are  not 
thirty-five  per  cent  efficient.  Year  by  year  our  officials  should  increase  ef- 
ficiency and  decrease  taxation.  They  are  not  doing  it  in  San  Francisco. 

"The  present  administration  is  not  doing  it.  Why?  Because,  although 
there  are  some  splendid  men  serving  on  the  various  commissions,  they  think 
that  they  must  respect  the  personal  desires  of  the  Mayor.  Mayor  Rolph  has 
an  idea  that  he  should  be  actively  at  work  in  every  department  of  the  city 
government.  He  takes  away  from  the  various  departments  that  indepen- 
dence which  the  Charter  by  its  spirit  and  letter  confers  on  them.  He  takes 
the  stand  that  criticism  of  any  department  is  a  criticism  of  himself,  a  stand 
at  variance  with  the  notions  of  the  commercial  bodies  whose  leaders  seek  no 
political  preferment  and  are  interested  solely  in  promoting  efficiency.  But 
taking  that  wrong  stand,  he  feels  compelled  to  disregard  any  suggestion  that 
would  tend  in  a  progressive  way  toward  the  development  of  efficiency.  What 
is  the  advantage  of  having  good  commissioners  if  the  Mayor  discourages 
them  from  exercising  independence  of  thought?  To  refer  specifically  to  the 
controversy  between  Mayor  Rolph  and  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  let  us 
suppose  that  the  streets  of  San  Francisco  are  cleaner  than  the  streets  of 
any  other  city  in  the  United  States  or  in  the  world.  Yet  if  there  is  an  annual 
over-expenditure  of  $100,000  or  any  other  sum,  the  problem  before  the  Board 
of  Public  Works  remains  exactly  the  same.  There  is  inefficiency  which  ought 
to  be  corrected. 

"Mayor  Rolph  was  elected  because  we  wanted  as  our  chief  executive  a 
business  man  of  the  best  business  principles  who  would  do  things  in  a  bus- 
inesslike way.  We  wanted  a  man  to  be  mayor  of  all  the  people  all  the  time. 
We  wanted  the  interests  of  the  city  not  merely  conserved  but  developed.  We 
wanted  a  man  who  would  not  try  to  lean  either  toward  capital  or  labor.  In  the 
measure  in  which  we  failed  to  get  that  sort  of  man  we  have  failed,  and  the 
man  selected  has  failed  too. 

"If  Mayor  Rolph  were  running  today  the  men  who  were  active  in  his 
campaign  would  not  be  active  again.  He  has  misinterpreted  the  desires  of 
some  of  the  biggest  and  most  disinterested  men  of  San  Francisco — or  else 
he  has  disregarded  their  desires.  His  action  in  the  matter  of  the  Municipal 
Opera  House  was  a  heavy  blow.  So  was  his  denunciation  of  the  work  of  the 
Chamber  of  Commerce.  It  might  have  been  exoected  that  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce  and  other  big  bodies  would  be  credited  with  honesty  of  purpose, 
especially  as  Mayor  Rolph  was  closely  identified  with  them  himself  and  must 

84 


MILTON     H.     ESBERG 


MILTON     H.     ESBERG 

have  known  the  sincerity  of  their  aims.  Why  should  the  citizenship  be  thus 
misunderstood?  Why  cannot  all  have  a  fair,  square  break?  The  govern- 
ment should  not  be  run  for  the  enhancement  of  political  ambitions.  What 
we  want  is  a  business  concern  in  which  the  head  and  all  the  department 
managers  are  thinking  of  the  stockholders,  not  of  politics. 

"How  are  we  to  improve  conditions?  By  sitting  down  and  taking  careful 
stock  of  ourselves,  by  calculating  our  assets  and  discovering  what  improve- 
ments we  need.  The  trouble  is  that  there  is  absolutely  no  homogeneity 
among  our  people.  Other  big  cities  have  co-ordination  and  the  co-operative 
spirit.  They  have  a  definite  purpose.  They  know  that  their  strong  point  is 
manufacturing  or  retail  business  or  amusement,  and  they  have  capitalized 
their  assets  accordingly.  San  Franciscans  have  never  done  that. 

"Perhaps  one  reason  for  this  lack  of  homogeneity  is  that  we  pay  so 
little  attention  to  those  who  are  trying  to  do  something.  We  must  have  a 
storehouse  to  supply  facts  about  what  we  are  and  what  we  are  not,  what  we 
may  hope  to  be  and  what  we  may  not  hope  to  be,  and  we  must  get  into  the 
habit  of  going  to  that  storehouse  for  material.  A  lack  of  understanding  in 
civic  affairs  leads  to  duplication  of  work.  That  means  inefficiency,  waste  of 
money  and  in  the  end  a  divergence  of  aim  which  prevents  accomplishment. 

"Politically  and  civically  the  people  of  San  Francisco  are  in  the  habit  of 
asking  what  they  can  get  out  of  a  thing.  That  is  the  wrong  idea.  If  our 
city  government  and  our  big  institutions  are  to  amount  to  anything,  all  must 
first  contribute  to  the  common  gain.  Then  there  will  be  dividends  for  all. 

"The  politicians  running  municipal  affairs  are  opposed  to  the  introduc- 
tion of  progressive  machinery,  the  devices  invented  by  good  minds  for 
economic  work.  They  think  this  is  against  labor.  They  try  to  retard  it 
because  the  machines  have  no  votes,  because  you  cannot  register  these 
machines.  This  comes  from  a  lack  of  understanding  of  industrial  conditions, 
and  from  the  tendency  to  prevent  an  understanding  between  the  employer  and 
the  employe.  In  no  place  in  this  country  does  machinery  hurt  the  employe. 
Where  you  find  the  best  machinery  you  find  the  best  workmanship. 

"I  met  a  certain  man  lately  who  has  been  attorney  for  labor  in  many 
big  cases,  and  we  spoke  of  the  efficiency  of  labor.  He  said  he  didn't  think 
labor  would  ever  become  perfectly  efficient,  because  greater  efficiency  means 
only  a  few  more  cents  for  labor  and  bigger  dividends  for  capital.  To  answer 
this  I  pointed  out  that  B.  Altman  of  New  York  had  left  his  fortune  to  his 
employes.  That  was  not  a  reward  of  efficiency,  said  the  champion  of  labor. 
I  argued  that  it  was,  because  the  inefficient  had  been  weeded  out  of  Altman's 
employ  and  only  the  efficient  remained  to  share  his  fortune,  and  he  finally 
agreed  with  me.  Politicians  have  been  busy  expounding  the  doctrine  voiced 
by  this  champion  of  labor.  Isn't  it  time  that  people  realized  that  employers 
try  to  do  the  right  thing  for  efficiency,  but  will  not  stand  for  laggards?  There 
will  be  no  breach  between  labor  and  capital  if  this  is  understood." 

Milton  Esberg,  you  see,  is  not  merely  a  destructive  critic ;  he  is  also 
constructive.  He  knows  what  is  wrong  and  has  a  definite  idea  of  what  should 
be  done  to  right  it.  He  is  representative  of  the  disinterested  men  who  have 
lost  their  sympathy  for  the  present  municipal  administration.  Let  the  reader 
decide  whether  he  is  an  obstructionist. 

87 


r   I  1 

JL 


LA  LOIE  FULLER 


HE  FINEST  group  of  Rodin  masterpieces  ever  assembled 
is  to  be  presented  to  the  city  of  San  Francisco.  The  col- 
lection includes  "The  Thinker"  and  "The  Age  of  Brass,"  re- 
garded by  authorities  on  art  as  the  greatest  works  ever 
^5  executed  by  the  world's  greatest  living  sculptor.  These  two 
ja  famous  masterpieces,  together  with  the  master's  "Prodigal 
JPui^t^i^ll!^  Son,"  "The  Siren"  and  his  bust  of  Henri  Rochefort  have 
been  bought  by  Mrs.  Adolph  B.  Spreckt's  who  announces 
her  intention  of  giving  them  to  her  native  city.  They  are  at  the  World's 
Fair  and  will  be  exhibited  in  the  Palace  of  Fine  Arts.  With  them  is  another 
of  Rodin's  masterpieces,  "St.  John  the  Baptist,"  which  Mrs.  Spreckels  may 
buy  and  add  to  the  collection.  The  munificence  of  a  San  Francisco  matron 
is  to  make  this  city  a  Rodin  shrine  to  which  the  art  lovers  of  the  whole 
world  will  come  on  pilgrimage  through  all  future  ages. 

Aside  from  Paris  the  cities  of  the  world  which  boast  more  than  one 
Rodin  either  publicly  or  privately  owned  may  be  counted  on  the  fingers.  San 
Francisco's  collection  will  remain  unapproachable  because  it  contains  both 
"The  Thinker"  and  "The  Age  of  Brass."  "The  Thinker"  Rodin  did  in  bronze 
twice  only.  One  statue  is  in  front  of  the  Pantheon  in  Paris;  the  other  which 
is  to  be  San  Francisco's,  was  executed  for  the  Swiss  Government.  "The 
Thinker"  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  New  York  is  a  plaster  exemplar. 
"The  Age  of  Brass"  is  the  work  of  Rodin  best  known  to  the  man  in  the 
street  because  there  is  an  interesting  story  connected  with  it.  When  the 
young  Rodin  sent  it  to  the  Salon  the  jury  decided  that  a  work  so  perfect  must 
have  been  cast  from  the  living  male  figure.  It  was  rejected  and  Rodin  was 
ostracized.  Only  his  genius  and  the  passing  of  years  vindicated  his  artistic 
integrity  and  freed  him  from  the  worst  charge  which  can  be  made  against 
a  sculptor.  These  and  the  other  works  belong  to  the  best  period  of  Rodin's 
career.  All  of  them  are  as  well  known  to  connoisseurs  as  the  Venus  of  Milo 
or  Michelangelo's  Moses. 

How  were  they  secured  for  San  Francisco?  The  answer  may  be  stated 
simply.  San  Francisco  owes  the  most  splendid  gift  of  art  it  may  ever  re- 
ceive to  the  bounty  of  Mrs.  Spreckels,  to  the  irresistible  enthusiasm  of  La 
Loie  Fuller  and  to  the  European  situation  created  by  the  war.  Miss  Fuller 
told  me  the  story,  one  of  the  most  absorbing  I  have  ever  listened  to. 

I  would  that  I  could  tell  it  as  the  world-famous  dancer  poured  it  out  to 
me.  This  friend  of  Rodin's  has  the  gift  of  picturesque  narrative,  and  whether 
she  is  rhapsodizing  on  the  genius  of  "the  master" — so  she  calls  the  great 
sculptor — or  denouncing  President  Wilson's  course  since  the  beginning  of 
the  world  war,  she  proves  herself  mistress  of  a  thrilling  eloquence  that  com- 
municates her  enthusiasm  to  her  listener. 

88 


LA    LOIE    FULLER 


LA    LOIE    FULLER 

The  story  of  the  acquisition  of  the  Rodins  begins  with  Mrs.  Adolph 
Spreckels'  visit  in  Paris  just  before  the  war.  There  she  renewed  her  friend- 
ship with  Miss  Fuller.  La  Loie  is  of  the  inner  circle  of  Parisian  art :  Rodin's 
home  is  open  to  her,  Anatole  France  wrote  the  preface  to  her  Memoirs.  It 
was  inevitable  that  Mrs.  Spreckels'  sincere  admiration  for  Rodin  should  warm 
to  passion  at  the  flame  of  Miss  Fuller's  adoration. 

The  World's  Fair  brought  Miss  Fuller  to  San  Francisco  last  August. 
She  was  the  house  guest  of  Mrs.  Spreckels.  Rodin  was  the  theme  of  many 
conversations,  and  out  of  these  came  Mrs.  Spreckels'  determination  to  do  a 
great  thing  for  her  city. 

The  war  took  Miss  Fuller  back  to  Europe.  Her  own  affairs  demanded 
her  attention,  but  there  was  a  larger  purpose  weighting  the  trip  with  re- 
sponsibility. Mrs.  Spreckels  had  given  her  the  money  to  buy  a  collection 
of  Rodins  for  San  Francisco. 

Ensued  three  months  of  effort,  three  months  of  heartbreaking  devotion 
to  what  seemed  the  forlornest  of  forlorn  hopes. 

"Three  times  in  my  despair,"  says  Miss  Fuller,  "I  went  to  the  bank  for 
the  purpose  of  returning  Mrs.  Spreckels'  money.  I  was  all  but  convinced 
that  further  effort  was  useless.  But  each  time  something  deterred  me,  per- 
haps the  disinclination  to  acknowledge  defeat." 

Despite  her  intimate  friendship  with  Rodin  Miss  Fuller  found  the  aged 
sculptor  well  nigh  unapproachable  on  the  subject  of  her  quest.  He  was  in 
Rome,  the  pet  of  the  King,  the  lion  of  the  nobility.  Time  after  time  Miss 
Fuller  sought  to  broach  the  matter  closest  to  her  heart,  only  to  be  silenced. 

"I  was  motoring  with  him  one  day,"  she  said,  "and  the  motor  had  stopped 
so  that  the  master  might  inspect  a  ruin.  He  studied  it  alone,  for  nobody  may 
go  with  him  on  these  occasions,  and  while  I  waited  an  American  gentleman 
approached.  I  learned  that  he  had  ordered  a  work  of  Rodin's — or  rather,  to 
use  the  words  customary  in  such  dealings  with  the  master,  that  Rodin  had 
consented  to  execute  a  work  for  him — ten  years  before,  but  he  had  never 
been  able  to  get  it.  When  Rodin  returned  from  his  solitary  study  of  the  ruin 
the  American  introduced  the  subject  in  a  manner  which,  I  thought,  was  far 
from  offensive.  And  in  quite  a  polite  way  he  drew  out  a  check  for  ten 
thousand  dollars  and  offered  it  to  Rodin.  Rodin  abruptly  dismussed  him. 
'I  am  not  selling  a  yard  of  ribbon,'  he  said  to  me  afterwards.  You  may  be 
sure  my  heart  sank  at  the  hopelessness  of  my  own  efforts." 

By  dint  of  diplomatic  obstinacy  Miss  Fuller  discovered  that  "The 
Thinker,"  ordered  by  the  Swiss  Government  several  years  before  had  not  yet 
been  delivered.  She  discovered  too  that  the  drain  of  the  war  on  Swiss  finances 
would  make  it  impossible  for  the  government  to  complete  the  purchase  until 
peace  returned  to  Europe.  Then  all  her  feminine  resources  of  influence, 
finesse  and  tact  were  brought  into  play.  There  were  trips  from  Rome  to 
Paris,  interviews  with  the  Minister  of  Fine  Arts  and  other  delicate  negoti- 
ations. At  last  the  way  seemed  clear  for  the  acquisition  of  "The  Thinker." 

And  then: 

"I  shall  not  think  of  parting  with  'Le  Penseur'  until  the  marble  base  is 
placed  beneath  my  statue  of  'L'Homme  Qui  Marche',"  said  Rodin. 

91 


VARIED     TYPES 

Miss  Fuller's  heart  sank.  "The  Walking-  Man"  stood  in  a  court  of  the 
French  Embassy  in  Rome.  It  stood,  not  in  the  court  for  which  the  French 
Ambassador  intended  it  but  in  the  court  preferred  by  Rodin.  And  so,  to 
spite  the  imperious  sculptor,  the  French  Ambassador  let  it  stand  on  a  wooden 
box  although  Rodin  had  executed  a  marble  pedestal  at  his  own  expense. 
Every  time  the  Minister  of  Fine  Arts  at  Paris  instructed  the  French  Am- 
bassador at  Rome  to  replace  that  box  with  the  marble  pedestal  the  latter 
found  some  way  to  evade  the  demand.  Miss  Fuller  went  to  Paris.  Again 
she  interviewed  the  Minister  of  Fine  Arts.  Again  she  manipulated  the  wires 
of  influence  which  she  knew  how  to  reach.  There  came  a  peremptory  order. 
"The  Walking  Man"  now  rests  on  the  marble  pedestal. 

The  siege  was  not  over  by  any  means.  Days,  weeks  passed  in  repeated 
interviews  abruptly  terminated,  in  motor  rides  to  view  interminable  ruins  on 
whose  inspection  no  word  of  business  might  intrude.  There  were  subtle 
flatteries,  because  the  master  likes  praise;  there  were  appeals  based  on  the 
necessity  of  a  cordial  entente  between  France  and  the  United  States,  because 
the  master  is  a  patriot;  there  were  hints  that  if  Rodin's  works  went  to  San 
Francisco  a  virgin  field  for  the  sale  of  works  by  other  French  sculptors 
would  be  opened,  because  Rodin  loves  his  fellow  craftsmen ;  and  there  were 
warnings  (not  addressed  to  Rodin  but  to  those  who  would  repeat  them  to 
him)  that  in  the  unsettled  condition  of  European  finance  it  was  the  part  of  a 
wise  man  to  replenish  his  exchequer.  And  there  was  Madame  Rodin. 

"Madame  Rodin  does  not  interfere  with  her  husband's  affairs,"  says  Miss 
Fuller,  "but  I  knew  that  she  could  exert  a  silent  influence  upon  him,  so  I 
was  careful  to  make  her  my  friend.  We  shopped  together,  and  whenever  I 
found  her  admiring  some  pretty  thing,  I  bought  it  as  a  surprise." 

At  last  the  day  came  when  Miss  Fuller,  in  fear  and  trembling,  dared  the 
presence  of  Rodin  with  a  purse  full  of  crisp  bank  bills.  She  emptied  them 
before  him,  and  they  remained  uncounted. 

"It  is  all  I  have,"  she  told  him,  "and,  master,  in  comparison  with  your 
work  it  is  nothing.  Give  me  what  you  can."  Rodin  gave  her  a  king's  ransom. 

He  gave  her  "The  Thinker,"  "The  Age  of  Brass,"  "The  Prodigal  Son," 
"The  Siren,"  the  bust  of  Henri  Rochefort  and  "Old  Age  and  Youth."  "St. 
'John  the  Baptist"  was  not  included.  This  wonderful  statue  was  executed 
for  the  German  Government  and  but  for  the  war  would  have  gone  to  the 
Cologne  Museum.  It  is  in  San  Francisco  with  the  other  works  and  may  yet 
become  the  property  of  Mrs.  Spreckels.  All  these  seven  pieces  are  in  bronze, 
except  "The  Siren"  which  is  a  small  marble  of  entrancing  loveliness.  Of 
the  six  which  are  the  property  of  Mrs.  Spreckels,  only  "Old  Age  and  Youth" 
will  be  reserved  for  the  Spreckels  private  collection. 

"When  I  left  the  master,"  says  Miss  Fuller,  "I  pinched  myself  to  see  if 
I  was  awake.  I  was  afraid  I  might  be  dreaming.  Even  now  I  cannot  fully 
realize  what  has  happened." 

The  appreciative  reader  does  not  require  that  I  repeat  for  him  the  words 
of  praise  which  Miss  Fuller  gives  to  Mrs.  Spreckels.  He  will  phrase  his 
own  admiration  and  gratitude.  Speaking  for  myself,  it  seems  to  me  that 
San  Francisco  has  discovered  a  Lady  Bountiful. 

92 


A.  P.  GIANNINI 


ran 

CO         ;         CO 
r5       JL       ?5 


COLLEGE  professor  is  one  of  the  delights  of  American 
life.  None  adds  more  to  our  natural  gaiety  than  he.  He  is 
that  most  irresistible  of  humorists,  the  side-splitter  who 
takes  himself  seriously.  Follow  his  antics,  and  you  are 
never  at  a  loss  for  merriment.  Read  what  he  says,  and  you 
will  never  have  the  blues. 

Occasionally,  however,  the  college  professor  says  some- 
thing which  it  would  be  wrong  not  to  take  seriously.  Thus 
it  became  necessary  to  take  David  Starr  Jordan  seriously  when  he  reflected 
on  the  French  nation.  Thus  again,  a  certain  Professor  M.  V.  O'Shea,  head 
of  the  educational  department  of  the  University  of  Wisconsin,  must  be  taken 
seriously  when  he  reflects  on  the  Italians.  There  are  liberties  which  the 
funniest  of  unconscious  mirth-provokers  cannot  be  allowed  to  take. 

Professor  O'Shea — by  the  way,  he  is  the  man  who  recently  advocated 
the  teaching  of  slang  in  the  public  schools — addressed  the  California 
Teachers'  Association  in  session  at  Ye  Liberty  Theatre,  Oakland.  In  the 
course  of  his  address  he  said  this : 

"The  essential  reason  for  the  decay  of  the  Italian  race  is  that  it  has  not 
known  how  to  keep  the  rising  generation  plastic,  docile,  simple  and  teachable. 
It  is  allowed  to  ripen  too  soon.  This  is  the  type  of  civilization  this  country 
should  deny  itself." 

Here  are  some  pretty  broad  statements.  In  the  first  place  Professor 
O'Shea  sets  it  down  as  an  established  fact,  not  open  to  question,  that  the 
Italian  race  is  decadent.  In  the  second  place  the  professor  makes  the  state- 
ment that  the  United  States  should  deny  itself  Italian  civilization;  in  other 
words,  that  Italians  should  be  excluded.  The  reason  he  gives  for  the  decay 
of  the  Italian  race,  the  "essential  reason"  as  he  calls  it  with  true  pedagogical 
dogmatism,  may  be  disregarded.  That  or  any  other  reason  is  idle  if  the 
Italian  race  is  not  decadent. 

Casting  about  for  an  Italian  to  interview  about  Professor  O'Shea's 
curious  statements,  I  thought  of  A.  P.  Giannini,  the  banker.  Giannini  is  a 
native  of  California,  born  of  Italian  parents.  His  position  in  this  community 
is  such  that  none  can  question  his  right  to  speak  with  authority  on  the 
subject.  When  I  showed  him  Professor  O'Shea's  statement  he  laughed. 

"For  a  decadent  race,"  he  said,  "the  Italians  seem  to  have  done  a  good 
deal  for  California.  They  reclaimed  four  thousand  odd  acres  of  waste  land 
in  San  Bernardino  County,  transforming  them  into  the  largest  vineyard  in 
the  United  States.  I  refer  to  the  Italian  Vineyard  Company  of  which 
Secondo  Guasti  is  president  and  in  which  over  a  million  dollars  is  invested. 
Three  Italians,  Sbarboro,  Fontana  and  Rossi,  started  the  Italian-Swiss 
Colony,  reclaiming  waste  lands  in  Sonoma  and  Madera  Counties.  One  of 

93 


VARIED    TYPES 

the  largest  estates  in  California,  consisting  of  grain,  bean  and  orchard  lands, 
the  Schiappapietra  Estate  of  Ventura,  Santa  Barbara  and  Los  Angeles 
Counties,  is  handled  by  an  Italian,  Giovanni  Ferro.  John  Lagomarsino,  the 
banker,  is  one  of  the  largest  land  owners  in  Santa  Barbara  and  Ventura 
Counties.  N.  Bonfilio,  the  president  of  a  bank  in  Los  Angeles,  is  on  the 
directorate  of  some  of  the  biggest  business  enterprises  in  Southern  California. 
These  are  names  taken  at  random.  All  over  the  State  you  will  find  Italians 
prominent  in  business.  In  the  older  towns  of  the  State  especially  you  will 
find  that  the  best  holdings  and  the  best  business  property  belong  to  Italians. 
Does  this  look  like  decadence?  Does  this  indicate  the  necessity  of  California 
denying  herself  'Italian  civilization?' 

"Look  at  the  situation  here  in  San  Francisco.  This  city  has  the  best 
Italian  Colony  in  the  United  States.  The  reason  is,  perhaps,  that  at  the 
time  this  Italian  Colony  was  founded  it  required  initiative,  thought,  foresight 
to  come  so  far.  The  Italian  pioneers,  like  the  pioneers  of  other  races,  were 
sturdy,  strong  of  will,  big  of  brain,  men  of  capacity  and  endurance.  There 
are  about  forty  thousand  Italians  here.  Are  they  decadent?  Are  they 
undesirable  citizens?  Are  they  incapable  of  keeping  the  rising  generation 
'plastic,  docile,  simple  and  teachable?'  They  support  four  Italian  banks  with 
aggregate  resources  of  thirty  millions.  They  are  among  our  biggest  and 
most  successful  merchants.  An  Italian,  M.  J.  Fontana,  founded  the  canning 
business  out  of  which  grew  the  California  Fruit  Canners  Association.  The 
L.  Scatena  Company  is  the  largest  commission  house  on  the  Pacific  Coast. 
The  Agenzia  Fugazi  conducted  by  two  native  sons  of  California  is  one  of 
the  oldest  and  biggest  steamship  agencies  in  the  country.  Another  Italian, 
J.  Di  Giorgio,  controls  the  marketing  in  New  York  of  sixty-three  per  cent 
of  our  deciduous  and  citrus  fruits.  He's  a  national  figure.  And  so  it  goes 
in  many  other  lines  of  endeavor. 

"Take  our  bank,  the  Bank  of  Italy.  It  is  nine  years  old.  Not  so  long  ago 
most  of  its  directors  belonged  to  the  'rising  generation'  of  Italians  which 
worries  Professor  O'Shea.  There  are  nine  native  born  Californians  among 
the  Italians  on  the  board  of  directors.  There  are  the  two  Fugazis,  James 
and  Samuel ;  there  is  Dr.  Bacigalupi ;  there  is  Dr.  Caglieri ;  there  is  Charles 
Grondona;  there  is  N.  A.  Pellerano;  there  are  my  two  brothers  and  myself. 
I  sincerely  trust  that  Professor  O'Shea  will  not  brand  any  of  us  with  the 
stigma  of  decadence. 

"Go  into  the  schools  and  inquire  how  the  young  Italian  or  the  Italian- 
American  stands  in  his  studies.  Whether  it  be  in  the  public  schools,  in  the 
universities  or  colleges,  he  has  a  way  of  standing  at  the  head  or  near  the  head 
of  the  class,  this  youngster  that  Professor  O'Shea  says  is  not  'docile'  and 
'teachable.'  I  don't  have  to  give  you  the  names  of  the  young  Italian  doctors, 
dentists  and  lawyers  who  are  rising  to  the  top  of  their  professions  here.  Are 
they  decadent?  And  in  the  arts,  how  about  our  Italian  musicians  and  painters? 
Is  there  any  sign  of  decadence  there? 

"There  is,  I  believe,  a  relation  between  decadence  and  race  suicide.  You 
don't  find  race  suicide  among  our  Italians.  According  to  Statistician  Leslie 
of  the  State  Bureau  of  Vital  Statistics,  the  most  rapidly  growing  nationality 

94 


A.    P.     GIANNINI 


A.    P.     GIANNINI 

in  California  is  the  Italian.  Between  the  last  two  federal  censuses  the 
Italian-born  inhabitants  increased  179  per  cent.  How  often  do  you  find  an 
Italian  family  in  which  there  are  less  than  four  or  five  children?  Is  that  a 
sign  of  decadence? 

"But  perhaps  Professor  O'Shea  finds  decadence  in  Italy.  I  am  unable 
to  find  it  there,  however.  If  California  is  progressive,  it  is  only  following 
the  example  of  Italy  where  they  have  had  workingmen's  compensation  for 
quite  a  while.  And  as  for  unionism,  even  the  farm  laborers  in  Italy  have 
their  unions.  They  have  government  ownership  of  railroads,  municipal 
ownership  of  street  car  lines,  and  all  life  insurance  is  controlled  by  the 
government.  In  the  last  ten  years  Italy  has  seen  a  wonderful  advance  in 
education  and  in  the  wages  of  labor.  The  war  in  Tripoli  did  not  indicate 
national  decadence.  No  greater  achievements  in  sanitation,  transport  and 
commissary  were  ever  recorded  than  the  achievements  of  Italy  during  that 
war.  The  American  Consul  at  Tripoli  told  me  when  I  was  there  that  no 
commissariat  in  the  world  had  ever  been  handled  so  well.  Automobiles  were 
used  for  the  distribution  of  food  and  the  transportation  of  the  wounded. 
Aeroplanes  were  used  with  success  in  engagement  after  engagement.  Moving 
pictures  of  the  families  of  the  soldiers  were  taken  in  all  parts  of  Italy  and 
shown  to  the  various  regiments  for  a  Christmas  treat  Do  these  things 
point  to  decadence? 

"Do  the  achievements  of  Marconi  point  that  way?  Or  of  the  great 
composers,  literary  men  and  poets  of  the  present  day?  Or  of  surgeons  and 
physicians  like  Durante,  Murri,  Bacelli,  Marchiafava,  Mazzoni  and  Bastianelli, 
the  late  Pierpont  Morgan's  physician?  Is  that  race  decadent  which  produces 
a  Leo  XIII,  a  Pius  X,  a  Rampolla? 

"Speaking  very  plainly,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  this  Professor  O'Shea 
doesn't  know  what  he  is  talking  about.  He  has  slandered  one  of  the  greatest 
races  without  the  slightest  basis  of  fact.  He  belongs  to  that  dangerous  class 
of  men  whose  position  assures  them  a  ready  hearing  and  who  do  not  hesitate 
to  speak  of  things  about  which  they  know  less  than  nothing.  Such  men  do  a 
great  deal  of  harm,  and  they  deserve  to  be  eliminated  from  public  life.  Men 
like  Professor  O'Shea  are  a  greater  menace  to  American  civilization  than  the 
Italians  ever  will  be.  Such  men  as  this  professor  are  not  'plastic/  'docile' 
or  'teachable'  because  they  assume  to  know  it  all;  but  in  a  certain  uncom- 
plimentary sense  they  may  be  described  as  'simple.'  " 


97 


JACOB  J.  GOTTLOB 


NE  OF  MY  brightest  employes  was  J.  J.  Gottlob,  who  was 
born  in  1860  and  entered  my  employ  in  1882,  remaining 
twelve  years.  He  traveled  as  treasurer  with  several  of  my 
road  attractions  for  two  seasons,  and  in  1885  I  made  him 
treasurer  of  my  Bush  Street  Theatre  in  San  Francisco,  of 

^Ocro^O^^   which  he  ultimately  became  manager During  the  time 

^<J£cj5x!><^  Gottlob  managed  my  California  interests  I  gave  him  carte 
blanche,  and  to  show  what  I  thought  of  him,  I  may  mention 
that  he  handled  my  exchequer  and  I  never  needed  to  look  at  the  accounts 
he  handed  me,  such  was  the  implicit  faith  I  had  in  his  judgment  and  loyalty 
to  my  interests.  He  assuredly  is  the  most  popular  and  respected  manager 
in  California." 

These  lines,  gentle  reader,  are  taken  from  that  storehouse  of  information, 
that  mine  of  theatrical  riches,  M.  B.  Leavitt's  "Fifty  Years  in  Theatrical 
Management."  If  you  are  interested  in  the  theatre  of  America  and  do  not 
know  the  book,  lose  no  time  in  making  its  acquaintance.  It  will  tell  you 
about  the  past  of  the  playhouses,  about  the  parents  and  grandparents  of  the 
players  you  are  interested  in  today ;  it  will  give  you  theatrical  orientation 
and  so  increase  your  theatrical  enjoyment. 

With  Leavitt's  words  in  my  mind  I  went  to  Mr.  Gottlob — Jake  Gottlob 
he  is  called  by  his  familiars — and  accused  him  of  being  an  oldtimer  in  the 
theatrical  business.  He  is  a  quiet,  soft-spoken  gentleman,  and  like  many  others 
who  are  quiet  and  soft-spoken,  not  to  be  intimidated.  My  accusation  failed 
to  daunt  him.  He  acknowledged  the  corn. 

"If  Leavitt  has  it  in  his  book,"  said  Gottlob,  "I  suppose  it  must  be  true. 
If  thirty-two  years  in  the  game  make  one  an  oldtimer  I  suppose  I  must  admit 
that  I  am  not  exactly  a  debutante.  Thirty-two  years!  Almost  a  lifetime, 
isn't  it?  But  it  doesn't  seem  so  awfully  long.  Perhaps  that  is  because  thirty 
of  those  years,  come  April,  were  spent  in  San  Francisco. 

"How  did  I  get  into  the  business?  Just  drifted  naturally  into  it.  I  was 
born  in  Boston,  and  while  I  was  still  at  school  there  I  managed  a  big  church 
fair.  Walking  matches  were  the  fad  of  the  moment,  and  I  introduced  them 
at  the  church  fair.  And  I  got  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  other  noted  men  to 
lecture.  The  result  was  that  this  church  fair  which  everybody  expected  to 
be  a  failure,  proved  quite  a  success.  Emboldened  by  this  I  went  to  New  York 
and  dabbled  in  walking  matches  there.  We  had  six-day  walking  matches  at 
Madison  Square  Gardens;  the  walkers  walked  all  day  and  all  night  too. 
Theatrical  people  used  to  drop  into  the  Gardens  to  see  them  walk  after  the 
shows  were  over.  Naturally  I  met  a  lot  of  actors  and  managers.  It  was 
there  I  first  met  Nat  Goodwin.  And  it  was  there  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
M.  B.  Leavitt. 

98 


JACOB    J.    GOTTLOB 


JACOB    J.     GOTTLOB 

"I  went  to  work  for  Leavitt.  He  had  a  number  of  road  companies  that 
started  from  New  York,  and  he  sent  me  out  with  some  of  them.  In  1885  he 
sent  me  out  to  San  Francisco  to  be  the  treasurer  of  the  Bush  Street  Theatre. 
At  that  time  Leavitt  had  companies  which  played  all  the  territory  from  the 
Missouri  River  to  the  Pacific  Ocean.  Charles  Frohman  was  his  advance 
agent.  Al  Hayman,  afterwards  the  founder  of  the  Theatrical  Syndicate,  was 
manager  of  the  Bush  Street  Theatre  just  before  I  arrived  in  San  Francisco. 
When  I  arrived  Jay  Rial  was  manager.  He  was  succeeded  by  Charles  P. 
Hall.  I  succeeded  Hall  as  manager. 

"When  I  came  to  the  Bush  Street  Theatre,  Kate  Castleton  and  Harry 
Phillips  were  playing  there.  The  city  was  crazy  over  Kate  Castleton.  She 
was  the  toast  of  all  the  men  about  town. 

"Dave  Warfield  was  an  usher  at  the  Bush  Street  Theatre,  and  he  was 
not  an  awfully  bad  usher  either.  But  he  was  a  better  mimic.  There  was 
a  great  character  on  the  gallery  door  known  as  'Big  Jim.'  When  boys  that 
Charlie  Hall  knew  would  come  to  the  theatre  without  the  price  of  tickets, 
Hall  would  holler  upstairs,  'All  right,  Jim!  Two!'  and  'Big  Jim'  would  let 
them  in.  Many  a  time  Warfield  mimicked  Hall's  voice  to  get  his  friends  into 
the  gallery  free  of  charge,  and  'Big  Jim'  never  knew  the  difference. 

"Great  old  days  those  were!  Hoyt  and  Thomas  were  here  then,  and  all 
of  Hoyt's  plays  were  given  at  the  Bush  Street  Theatre.  What  a  hit  they 
made!  Then  there  were  Alice  Atherton  and  Billy  Edwin,  M.  B.  Curtis  in 
'Sam'l  of  Posen,'  Harry  Dixie  in  'Evangeline,'  John  T.  Raymond,  Willie 
Collier  and  Charlie  Reed  in  'The  City  Directory,'  Nat  Goodwin,  Crane  in 
'The  Senator'  and  Georgie  Drew,  Ethel  Barrymore's  mother. 

"The  Standard,  the  home  of  Billy  Emerson's  Minstrels,  was  right  across 
the  street  from  the  Bush  Street  Theatre.  Bush  street  from  Montgomery  to 
Kearny  and  Kearny  from  Bush  to  Market  constituted  the  Rialto  at  that  time. 
That  was  the  beginning  of  the  Cocktail  Route  which  afterwards  extended  to 
Powell  and  Market  when  the  Baldwin  was  built.  Everybody  used  to 
promenade  along  the  Rialto  of  a  Saturday  afternoon,  and  Dolly  Adams  and 
Kitty  Reed  and  other  beautiful  women  who  wore  beautiful  gowns  used  to  set 
the  fashions.  Chenoweth's  Reception  and  Gobey's  were  the  favorite  saloons. 
There  was  also  a  place  in  a  basement  at  Sutter  and  Kearny  where  the  Hotel 
Sutter  stands,  known  as  Harry  Grimm's,  which  was  much  frequented  by 
actors.  Gunst's  cigar  store  was  across  the  street,  and  they  used  to  be  around 
there  a  great  deal  too. 

"The  favorite  hotels  for  actors  were  the  Occidental  and  Lick;  the 
Brooklyn  was  for  those  who  couldn't  afford  the  best.  But  remember,  there 
was  no  'room  and  bath'  in  those  days.  Another  favorite  place  for  actors  was 
the  original  Hammam  Bath,  and  when  I  say  'original,'  I  mean  exactly  what 
I  say:  it  was  the  first  Hammam  in  the  United  States.  That  was  the  place 
on  Dupont  street,  and  it  was  built  back  from  the  sidewalk  line,  as  if  the 
owners  of  the  property  knew  that  Dupont  was  going  to  be  widened  and 
become  Grant  avenue.  All  the  sports  like  Muldoon  and  the  swell  actors  used 
to  go  to  the  Hammam,  and  they  were  proud  to  tell  you  so. 

"And  all  the  swell  actors  used  to  hire  buggies  on  Sunday  and  drive  out 

101 


VARIED    TYPES 

to  the  Cliff  House.  The  swagger  stable  was  Pagan's  on  Bush  between 
Montgomery  and  Kearny.  Lots  of  world-famous  stars  must  remember  that 
drive  to  the  Cliff  House  and  the  toll  gate  on  Point  Lobos  Road  where  they 
paid  their  twenty-five  cents. 

"I  was  at  the  Bush  Street  Theatre  for  eight  years  and  then  I  went  to  the 
California  with  Al  Hayman,  George  Broadhurst  coming  out  from  Dakota  to 
succeed  me  as  manager  at  the  Bush.  That  was  in  '92.  I  stayed  at  the 
California  for  three  years,  and  then  Friedlander,  Mel  Marx  and  myself  took 
over  the  Columbia  on  Powell  street.  The  Columbia  was  a  success  from  the 
first  night.  We  opened  on  Friday,  May  13,  1895,  and  our  first  attraction,  the 
Frawley  company,  played  for  thirteen  weeks.  We  had  the  Frawley  company 
for  five  seasons  running,  and  having  overturned  a  theatrical  superstition,  we 
always  tried  to  open  their  engagement  on  the  thirteenth  of  the  month. 

"The  Frawleys  opened  in  'Sweet  Lavender.'  It  was  a  great  company. 
In  addition  to  T.  Daniel  there  were  Jane  Kennark,  leading  woman,  Blanche 
Bates,  Macklyn  Arbuckle,  Harry  Corson  Clarke,  Hope  Ross,  Phosa  Mc- 
Allister, H.  S.  Duffield.  Harry  Blakemore  and  Fred  Perry.  A  lot  of  these 
have  been  stars  since.  For  the  second  Frawley  season  Blanche  Bates  became 
our  leading  woman,  and  we  had  in  addition  to  the  others  named  Gladys 
Wallace  for  ingenue,  Tyrone  Power,  Frank  Worthing,  Maxine  Elliott  and 
Madge  Carr  Cooke. 

"The  mention  of  Madge  Carr  Cooke  reminds  me  of  something.  After 
their  first  season  at  the  Columbia  we  had  taken  the  Frawleys  to  Honolulu 
for  a  very  successful  engagement.  We  planned  another  trip  after  the  end  of 
their  second  season.  But  we  had  had  trouble  with  Gladys  Wallace,  our 
ingenue,  and  w«  made  up  our  minds  it  would  be  inadvisable  to  take  her  to 
Honolulu.  Frawley  told  us  that  Madge  Cooke  had  a  daughter  of  sixteen, 
a  pretty,  sweet,  bright  little  girl  who  was  at  school  in  Brooklyn.  He  thought 
she  would  be  a  good  ingenue.  So  we  wired  for  her,  and  she  came  west,  a 
nice  girl  with  short  dresses,  long  curls  and  big  goggles.  She  watched  Gladys 
Wallace  in  her  various  parts  and  when  we  got  on  the  steamer  for  Honolulu 
Frank  Worthing  and  Blanche  Bates  coached  her.  We  opened  in  Honolulu 
in  'Shenandoah'  and  she  made  a  great  hit,  an  immediate  hit.  That  was  the 
beginning  of  Eleanor  Robson's  stage  career. 

"It's  a  strange  thing  that  the  three  ingenues  of  the  Frawley  company 
married  millionaires.  Hope  Ross  married  a  millionaire  of  Boston ;  Gladys 
Wallace  married  a  tinplate  magnate  of  Chicago;  and  Eleanor  Robson  married 
August  Belmont.  All  three  left  the  stage  for  good  after  marrying. 

"When  we  first  ran  the  Columbia  the  Baldwin  was  the  leading  theatre 
here.  It  was  the  'combination  house'  which  got  all  the  big  attractions.  We 
had  no  set  plans  when  we  opened  the  Columbia,  but  the  Frawley  season  of 
thirteen  weeks  was  a  great  success,  and  we  followed  it  with  the  Bostonians, 
another  big  success.  We  were  really  formidable  opponents  of  Hayman  at 
the  Baldwin ;  so  one  day  he  sent  for  us,  and  we  all  got  together.  Soon  after- 
wards we  bought  out  Hayman's  interest  in  the  California  and  Baldwin,  and 
Al  went  East,  not  with  a  great  deal  of  money.  He's  many  times  a  millionaire 
now.  After  the  Baldwin  burned  in  '98,  the  Columbia  became  the  city's  first 

102 


JACOB    J.     GOTTLOB 

class  theatre.  We  extended  our  interests  until  in  time  we  had  the  Columbia, 
the  California,  the  Macdonough  in  Oakand,  and  were  interested  with 
Morosco  and  Meyerfeld  in  the  Grand  Opera  House." 

All  of  which  brings  Gottlob's  career  within  easy  hailing  distance  of  the 
present  time,  and  forms,  I  trust,  a  not  uninteresting  gloss  on  the  words  which 
I  have  quoted  from  Leavitt's  book.  The  subsequent  career  of  Gottlob  and 
Marx  is  pretty  familar  to  all.  Even  post-fire  newcomers  need  not  be 
instructed  in  regard  to  the  Van  Ness  Theatre  and  the  New  Columbia. 

Gottlob  is  a  theatrical  optimist  who  has  never  learned  how  to  be  eloquent 
on  the  subject  of  hard  times. 

"When  you  have  a  good  attraction,"  he  says,  "nothing  can  hurt  you, 
not  even  in  that  most  sensitive  spot,  your  gallery.  There  are  good  seasons 
and  bad,  as  in  every  other  business ;  but  he  is  a  poor  merchant  who  wastes 
his  time  bemoaning  hard  times — he  might  be  much  better  employed  preparing 
to  get  the  full  benefit  of  prosperity.  If  some  shows  prove  to  be  bad  let  us 
remember  that  no  manager  knowingly  sends  a  failure  on  the  long  and 
expensive  journey  across  the  continent.  The  railroads,  you  know,  charge 
just  as  much  fare  for  a  bad  as  for  a  good  actor.  Let  us  bear  in  mind  that 
the  producing  managers  are  doing  the  best  they  can,  and  encourage  them  as 
much  as  possible,  at  least  to  the  extent  of  appreciating  the  good  things  they 
send  us." 

Certainly  that  isn't  asking  too  much  of  the  most  blase  and  exacting 
first-nighter,  is  it? 


103 


EDWARD  M.  GREENWAY 


ENTLE  READER,  do  you  remember  Kohler  and  Frohling's 
liquor  store?    Whether  you  do  or  whether  you  do  not,  you 
will  probably  see  no  reason  to  dispute  the  statement  that  it 
was  once  a  place  of  very  especial  resort.  If  you  had  happened 
to  be  in  Kohler  and  Frohling's  about  four  o'clock  one  sunny 
afternoon  just  twenty-five  years  ago,  you  would  have  noticed 
the  entrance  of  a  very  dapper  young  man  with  a  round  face, 
small  keen  brown  eyes  and  a  slight  mustache.     You  would 
have  noticed  that  he  approached  the  bartender,  nodded  a  salute,  arrayed  one 
graceful  foot  upon  the  rail  and  said  in  a  quick  but  pleasing  voice : 
"John,  a  little  of  that  port." 

If  you  had  happened  to  maintain  an  interest  in  this  by  no  means  extra- 
ordinary proceeding,  you  would  have  noticed  that  the  bartender  took  down  a 
bottle  and  enriched  a  small  wine  glass  with  its  ruddy  contents,  that  the 
dapper  young  man  held  it  before  the  light  for  the  gratification  of  his  eye,  swept 
it  slowly  before  his  face  for  the  titillation  of  his  sense  of  smell  and  then  tilted 
it  over  his  tongue  for  the  propitiation  of  his  palate.  Then  you  would  have 
watched  the  young  man  bring  the  glass  sharply  down  upon  the  polished 
mahogany  and  you  would  have  heard  him  exclaim  : 
"John,  you've  switched  the  bottle  on  me." 

And  then  in  a  corner  you  would  have  seen  a  head  emerge  from  behind 
a  rustling  newspaper,  the  while  a  voice  exclaimed  in  an  accent  of  surprise : 
"What's  that?     What's  that?" 

#####*#**##:t: 

Let  us  now  turn,  gentle  reader,  from  Kohler  and  Frohling's  liquor  store 
in  Montgomery  street  to  the  stately  old  home  of  the  Gwins  in  South  Park, 
still  imagining  ourselves  younger  by  twenty-five  years.  It  is  the  night  of  a 
grand  ball  and  all  the  beauty  and  chivalry  of  San  Francisco  are  in  attendance- 
We  find  the  same  dapper  young  man  in  the  brilliant  ball  room  and  as  it  is 
his  introduction  to  San  Francisco  society,  he  is  very  carefully  dressed.  Let 
us  suppose  that  he  stands  for  a  moment  surveying  the  charming  scene  before 
him  and  that  his  thoughts  are  interrupted  by  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  He 
finds  himself  confronted  by  a  tall,  handsome,  soldierly  man  of  middle  age 
who  regards  him  with  a  keen  but  kindly  eye. 

"Young  man,"  demanded  the  elderly  stranger,  "did  your  grandfather  ever 
mention  to  you  the  names  of  his  three  best  friends?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  our  dapper  youth ;  "he  mentioned  them  many  times. 
They  were  General  Scott,  General  Albert  Sydney  Johnstone  and  General 
Keyes." 

"I  am  General  Keyes." 


104 


EDWARD     M.     GREENWAY 


EDWARD     M.     GREENWAY 

"That  first  incident,"  explains  Edward  M.  Greenway — for  our  dapper 
youth  was  none  other — "proved  that  I  had  a  taste  for  wine;  it  was  my 
introduction  to  the  wine  business.  The  second  incident  proved  that  I  had 
a  grandfather;  it  was  the  beginning  of  my  social  career." 

Edward  Macdonald  Greenway  was  born  in  New  York  in  1851.  His 
ancestry  is  interesting  and  significant.  In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm 
of  time  the  Greenways  were  Vikings  and  ravaged  the  coast  of  Britain  and 
drained  the  mead  cup  to  their  war  god  Thor.  In  much  later  years  the 
Macdonalds  were  Scottish  cavaliers  who  fought  for  Bonny  Prince  Charlie  by 
day  and  finished  their  four  bottles  every  night-  And  at  the  beginning  of 
American  history  the  forbears  of  our  hero  settled  in  Virginia  and  began 
to  multiply  and  spread  to  Maryland  and  New  York  and  Tennessee.  So  you 
see  Ned  is  not  alone  in  having  a  grandfather;  his  grandfather  had  one  too. 
At  the  age  of  four  Greenway  was  taken  to  Baltimore  and  lived  there  until 
1875,  just  two  dozen  years.  Very  interesting  years  they  were,  as  Ned  is  very 
frank  in  confessing.  For  a  good  part  of  the  time  he  was  tutored  by  a  Scotch 
minister  who  endeavored  to  ferule  some  of  the  joy  of  living  out  of  his  charge, 
but  failed  most  dismally.  Then  he  went  to  St.  John's  College  at  Annapolis. 
He  stayed  there  for  three  and  a  half  years,  spending  three  years  in  the  fresh- 
man class  and  half  a  year  as  a  sophomore.  "What  did  I  take?"  says  Ned. 
"I  took  football  and  rowing.  My  chum  and  I  made  a  vow  that  we  would  not 
open  a  book  until  we  rowed  our  first  race  with  the  Naval  Academy,  so  they 
fired  us."  Not  a  whit  discouraged  Ned  returned  to  Baltimore  and  joined  a 
rowing  club.  It  was  a  pleasant  life,  especially  in  spring;  for  in  that  sweet 
season  he  spent  every  other  night  at  the  boat  club,  arising  at  four  in  the 
morning  to  pursue  the  soft  shell  crab.  It  was  a  life  gladdened  with  Maryland 
fried  chicken  and  corn  cakes,  with  broiled  oysters — ("You  can't  broil  the 
California  oysters,"  says  Ned) — and  sweetbread  croquets  and  last  but  not 
least,  with  "pins  and  pain"  as  they  used  to  call  it,  terrapin  and  champagne. 
Ned,  you  see,  was  taking  his  post-collegiate  course  as  a  bibeur  and  a  gourmet. 
His  eyes  flash  when  he  speaks  of  that  joyous  period  and  words  can  scarcely 
express  his  contempt  for  the  Philadelphia  recipe  for  preparing  terrapin. 

Ned  was  a  Democrat  and  he  cast  his  first  three  votes  for  Horace  Greeley. 
I  said  his  first  three  votes,  for  on  his  initiation  into  citizenship  he  voted  three 
times — just  to  get  the  hang  of  the  thing,  no  doubt — once  for  his  uncle,  once 
for  his  grandfather  and  once  for  himself.  And  being  a  great  admirer  of 
Horace  the  time  came  when  he  resolved  to  follow  the  celebrated  Horatian 
advice,  to  turn  his  back  on  soft  shell  crabs  and  terrapin  and  head  for  the 
alluring  West.  He  had  friends  out  here,  among  them  Louis  McLane  and 
General  Stoneman,  and  having  inherited  some  money,  he  resolved  in  a 
curious  groping  after  a  destiny  that  was  not  yet  ripe,  to  become  a  grape- 
grower.  Greenway's  family  tree  may  be  a  grapevine,  but  there  is  no  pruning- 
knife  on  his  coat  of  arms.  So  after  a  short  stay  at  the  Stoneman  place  in 
San  Gabriel  he  came  to  San  Francisco  in  1875  looking  for  employment.  He 
asked  his  friend  McLane  to  place  him  in  the  Nevada  Bank,  but  it  was  just 
after  the  failure  of  the  Bank  of  California  and  the  Big  Four — Flood,  Mackay, 
Fair  and  O'Brien — had  berthed  all  their  friends  in  the  Nevada  Bank  and  there 

107 


VARIED    TYPES 

was  only  the  job  of  messenger  left.  Greenway  took  it  and  after  a  month  of 
legging  was  made  receiving  teller  and  later  collection  clerk.  He  stayed  in  the 
Nevada  for  five  years  and  was  let  out  with  Edward  H.  Sheldon  and  seven 
others  when  the  Brander-Angus  combination  was  made.  Then  for  five  years 
he  was  clearing  house  clerk  for  the  Anglo,  but  was  fired  when  the  papers 
announced  that  Edward  M.  Greenway,  the  popular  society  amateur,  was 
receiving  instructions  from  George  Osborne  and  would  appear  at  the 
California  Theatre  as  a  professional  actor  in  "Hoodman  Blind."  Perhaps 
Ned  might  be  an  ornament  of  the  stage  today  if  he  had  not  happened  to  meet 
James  C.  Flood  ("the  best  friend  I  ever  had  in  my  life,"  says  Greenway). 
Flood  persuaded  Greenway  to  take  a  position  in  the  office  of  the  Ophir 
Mining  Company,  a  position  he  held  for  about  seven  years. 

It  was  shortly  after  his  arrival  that  the  incident  at  the  Gwin  ball  opened 
to  Greenway  the  most  exclusive  drawing  rooms  of  the  city.  He  became  the 
friend  of  Mrs.  Lloyd  Tevis  and  Mrs.  J.  B.  Haggin,  of  the  Mills',  the  Coltons 
and  the  Crockers  and  when  Edward  Sheldon  started  the  Bachelors'  Cotillon, 
he  joined  it.  After  two  years  Sheldon  turned  the  club  over  to  Ned  and  he 
has  been  running  it  ever  since.  It  was  not  long  afterwards  that  Charles 
Kohler  discovered  through  the  other  incident  I  have  narrated  that  Ned  had 
an  accurate  taste  for  wines  and  he  used  to  call  him  in  to  decide  nice  questions 
concerning  the  comparative  excellence  of  different  vintages.  By  the  time 
the  Midwinter  Fair  came  along  Ned  had  the  reputation  of  a  connoisseur 
and  he  was  made  one  of  the  judges  of  wines.  Soon  afterwards  he  met  the 
New  York  representative  of  the  Mumm  people  and  was  made  Pacific  Coast 
representative. 

Times  have  changed  since  Ned  started  to  manage  the  Bachelors'  Cotillon 
Club.  He  gave  his  first  german  in  old  B'nai  B'rith  Hall  which,  acording  to 
Ned,  had  the  best  dancing  floor  in  the  city.  It  was  a  very  scrumptious 
affair.  The  subscription  for  the  season  was  ten  dollars  and  the  first  supper 
cost  one  dollar  a  cover — and  that  included  champagne,  for  the  first  time  in 
dancing  history  in  the  city.  It  was  an  elaborate  supper  too,  Mrs.  Fair 
contributing  the  shrimp  salad.  Ned  led  the  german  with  Miss  Tessie  Fair, 
afterwards  Mrs.  Herman  Oelrichs,  who  was  making  her  bow  to  society,  and 
he  confesses  that  he  was  so  nervous  that  he  forgot  the  first  figure  and  had  to 
be  coached.  Ned  says  that  the  most  successful  period  of  the  club  was  when 
the  dances  were  given  in  Odd  Fellows'  Hall.  That  was  when  the  Hopkins 
girls,  Miss  Caro  Crockett,  Miss  Alice  Simpkins,  Miss  McNutt,  Miss  Mary 
Belle  Gwin  and  Miss  Mollie  Thomas — all  matrons  now — were  blushing 
debutantes  with  their  hearts  in  their  heels.  There  came  a  time  of  opposition, 
and  for  two  years  the  Greenway  club  suspended  while  Mrs.  Monroe  Salisbury 
lorded  it  over  society ;  but  it  was  revived  and  continued  for  years  a  very  lively 
institution. 

Dancing  and  wining  are  very  serious  matters  to  Greenway.  He  has 
tipped  glasses  with  three  generations  of  bibeurs  and  has  presided  over  the 
debuts  of  two  generations  of  buds;  so  why  shouldn't  he  take  them  seriously? 
He  has  learned  not  to  be  too  self-confident  in  social  matters.  In  the  earlier 
days  he  referred  all  his  doubts  to  a  charming  lady  whose  tact  and  judgment 

108 


EDWARD     M.     GREENWAY 

were  flawless  and  in  following  her  advice  he  never  erred.  When  she  died 
he  made  it  a  rule,  on  the  rare  occasions  when  consultation  was  necessary, 
to  consult  two  or  three  women  with  daughters  growing  up. 

As  to  the  wining,  Ned  needs  no  advice.  Years  ago  one  of  the  Mumms 
advised  him  never  to  retire  without  first  drinking  a  glass  of  beer.  He  has 
been  doing  that  ever  since.  And  he  never  tries  to  mix  whiskey  or  cocktails 
with  champagne. 

How  much  wine  can  he  drink?  I  don't  think  he  has  ever  exhausted  his 
capacity. 

"On  the  day  that  I  received  my  appointment  from  the  Mumm  people," 
he  says,  "I  drank  twenty-three  pints  and  remained  perfectly  sober." 

And  about  that  widely  heralded  book  of  social  reminiscences?  I  have 
asked  him  about  that  book. 

"I  shall  not  begin  it,"  he  says,  "until  I  stop  drinking  wine." 

In  the  name  of  chalk-stones,  I  wonder  when  that  will  be ! 


109 


JAMES  K.  HACKETT 


r-i-i 

* 


HIS  MIGHT  have  been  a  real  interview  had  we  not  run  into 
Andy  McCarthy.  Hackett  and  I  were  beginning  to  take  the 
drama  very  seriously.  We  were  plunging  head  first  into 
principles  and  tendencies;  were  immersing  ourselves  in 
methods  of  interpretation,  rules  of  criticism  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  We  were  standing  on  a  high  place  and  regarding 
the  stage  from  a  pretty  toplofty  viewpoint.  We  were  in- 
clined to  be  tolerant  of  nothing  but  the  best,  to  vent  our 
scorn  on  mediocrity,  even  to  be  severely  appraisive  of  the  mightiest.  Had 
not  Hackett  impressed  on  me  that  neither  Coquelin  nor  Mansfield  played 
all  of  Cyrano?  Had  there  not  been  words,  none  too  effusive,  about  a  certain 
Edwin  Booth?  Not  to  put  too  fine  an  edge  upon  it,  we  were  in  a  most 
highbrow  mood. 

And  then,  along  came  Andy  McCarthy,  he  of  the  music  shop.  Privileged 
by  a  close  acquaintance,  he  called  Hackett  "Jim."  Even  the  "Jim"  did  not 
take  James  K.  all  the  way  out  of  his  serious  preoccupation.  The  easy 
intimacy  of  the  "Jim"  only  alleviated,  it  did  not  cure  the  malady  of  thought 
that  sicklied  o'er  the  broad  brow  of  the  actor-turned-thinker.  But  as  a 
mild  concession  to  the  "Jim,"  Hackett  descended  a  bit  from  the  empyrean 
where  his  mind  had  been  doing  spiral  dips  and  showed  Andy  a  letter.  It 
expressed,  in  the  formal  language  which  Professor  "Billy"  Armes  knows  how 
to  use  at  the  proper  time,  the  eagerness  of  the  University  people  to  have 
Hackett  play  Othello  in  the  Greek  Theatre. 

That  letter  had  been  partly  responsible  for  the  severely  intellectual  trend 
of  our  conversation  when  Andy  McCarthy  interrupted.  Hackett  regarded  it 
reverently,  as  it  were  a  magical  formula  to  call  into  being  the  dream  of  a 
lifetime.  To  do  him  justice  Andy  McCarthy  received  it  in  the  proper  spirit. 
He  "came  through"  with  the  appropriate  congratulations.  He  did  all  that 
a  man  should  do  in  such  circumstances.  And  Hackett  couldn't  have  been 
more  tickled  if  he  had  been  a  kid  in  the  nursery  with  a  stranger  taking  a 
lively  interest  in  his  latest  toy. 

But  McCarthy  did  more.  He  too  produced  a  letter.  And  the  letter  he 
produced  wrecked  our  bark  of  thought  on  a  reef  of  triviality.  Triviality,  do 
I  say?  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that. 

Is  it  trivial  for  a  perfect  dear  to  write  for  an  actor's  photograph?  Is  it 
trivial  for  a  cute  young  thing  to  write  that  she  has  just  acquired  a  prize  pup 
and  has  named  it  "Grain  of  Dust" — "Dusty"  for  short? 

If  these  things  are  trivial,  the  letter  was  a  trifle  light  as  air,  for  these 
things  were  in  the  letter  which  the  sweet  girl  had  written  to  Andy  McCarthy. 
But  in  a  case  like  this  the  party  most  interested  must  be  allowed  to  judge 
the  degree  of  importance  to  be  assigned.  Frankly,  Hackett  did  not  regard 

110 


JAMES     K.    HACKETT 


JAMES     K.     HACKETT 

that  letter  as  a  trifle.  Or  if  he  did,  it  was  to  him  a  tremendous  trifle.  His 
eyes  shone,  his  face  expanded  in  rident  satisfaction ;  he  was  as  one  for  whom 
the  higher  criticism  did  not  exist.  Here  was  appreciation !  Here  was  manna 
dropped  from  the  heaven  of  a  maiden's  boudoir  upon  a  fainting  soul!  Here 
was,  not  the  higher  but  the  better  criticism ! 

Hackett  has  had  a  cigar  named  after  him.  He  confessed  it  to  me.  That 
signal,  though  hardly  unique  honor  came  to  him  many  years  ago.  It  was 
properly  appreciated,  though  strict  accuracy  compels  the  statement  that 
appreciation  was  tempered  to  the  quality  of  the  weed.  It  was  a  nickel  cigar. 
And  Hackett  says  it  was  a  rotten  cigar,  even  for  a  nickel.  However,  Hackett's 
name  and  Hackett's  phiz  were  done  onto  the  lid  of  a  cigar  box  in  garish 
lithograph.  That  fact  remains.  It  is  chronicled  here  to  show  that  Art 
receives  many  recompenses  outside  the  theatre.  But  how  many  artists  have 
had  prize  pups  named  for  them?  Did  Edwin  Booth,  of  whom  we  had  been 
speaking  not  too  effusively?  Did  Mansfield  or  Coquelin,  neither  of  whom 
rose  to  the  full  height  of  Cyrano?  It  is  not  of  record. 

Intent  upon  the  sweet  thing  who  wanted  his  picture  and  who  would 
think  of  him  whenever  she  gathered  her  prize  pup  "Dusty"  into  her  soft 
white  arms,  Hackett  lost  the  thread  of  his  conversation.  Our  interview  went 
all  to  smash.  It  was  flouted  by  feminine  adoration,  routed  by  a  prize  pup. 
However,  there  were  attempts  to  resume.  The  subject  of  San  Francisco 
insofar  as  it  interested  or  failed  to  interest  itself  in  the  Hackett  productions 
seemed  promising. 

"San  Francisco,"  said  Hackett,  sternly  banishing  the  prize  pup  for  the 
nonce,  "will  patronize  a  second  rate  company  in  a  tried-out  play,  but  it 
fights  shy  of  a  first  rate  company  in  an  untried  drama.  For  years  you've  been 
handed  tried-out  things,  and  apparently  you  will  not  accommodate  yourself 
to  anything  else.  When  you  are  given  a  tried-out  play  you  flock  to  it  on  the 
first  night,  and  if  it  doesn't  please  you  flock  somewhere  else  during  its 
engagement.  There  can  be  no  quarrel  with  the  people  who  don't  go  to  a 
bad  play.  But  what  of  the  people  who  won't  go  to  a  good  play  because  it's 
new?  They  are  very  discouraging. 

'I  came  to  San  Francisco  with  several  new  productions  and  with  an 
exceptional  company.  If  people  had  come  the  first  night  and  stayed  away 
thereafter,  there  would  be  no  room  for  complaint.  But  they  even  refused 
to  come  the  first  night.  It  is  true  that  the  attendance  crawled  steadily 
upward,  but  it  remained  a  crawl.  The  pace  was  too  slow. 

"Dramatically  considered,  San  Franciscans  are  not  from  California; 
they're  from  Missouri.  They  must  be  shown.  And  they're  very  slow  about 
giving  you  the  opportunity  to  show  them.  I  intended  to  show  them  some 
other  new  plays,  but  lacking  encouragement  in  what  I  did,  I  couldn't  see  my 
way  clear  to  do  more. 

"Why,  even  Oakland  seemed  to  feel  badly  about  the  way  I  was  treated. 
The  night  I  played  there  the  people  applauded  me  out  of  all  reason.  They 
were  trying  to  give  me  a  pat  on  the  back. 

"The  plays  I  gave  were  good  plays.  'The  Grain  of  Dust'  is  a  good  sound 
entertainment.  'The  Melody  of  Youth'  will  be  a  success.  'A  Man  on  Horse- 

113 


VARIED    TYPES 

back'  is  all  there.  It  is  not  quite  crystallized  of  course.  There  are  still 
things  to  be  done  to  it.  It  lacks  the  punch  as  yet,  but  it  is  interesting  in 
spite  of  its  defects.  Too  bad  'Tark'  couldn't  have  been  here  to  attend  to  its 
case.  But  he'll  get  around  to  it  later.  I  suppose  the  author  should  be  on 
the  job  when  a  new  play  is  launched.  And  yet  there  are  two  sides  to  that 
Brandon  Tynan  was  on  the  job — with  a  megephone!  Can  you  imagine  being 
rehearsed  through  a  megaphone? 

"Take  it  all  in  all,  the  engagement  was  not  what  it  should  have  been. 
But  if  it  has  started  discussion  of  San  Francisco  as  a  producing  centre  it  will 
have  accomplished  something.  At  the  same  time  I'm  afraid  1  haven't 
received  enough  encouragement  to  make  me  care  to  try  it  again.  But  one 
thing  my  stay  in  this  part  of  the  world  has  brought  me  cannot  be  measured  in 
any  words  of  mine — the  chance  to  appear  in  the  Greek  Theatre  in  Othello,  a 
part  I  have  been  longing  all  my  life  to  play." 

That  brought  us  round  to  the  "Billy"  Armes  letter.  And  it  brought  us 
round  to  the  professor  himself  who  came  in  under  escort  of  Mrs.  James  K. 
Hackett.  One  letter  led  to  another,  and  of  course  Armes  had  to  hear  of  the 
sweet  young  thing  who  demanded  Hackett's  picture  and  who  had  remembered 
him  when  she  needed  a  name  for  her  prize  pup.  The  presiding  genius  of  the 
Greek  Theatre  was  impressed.  I  do  believe  that  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he'd 
like  to  be  an  actor  and  have  such  things  happen  to  him. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  better  name  for  a  dog?"  demanded  Hackett,  all 
enthusiasm.  "Grain  of  Dust!  Dusty  for  short!  It's  superb!" 

"It's  a  great  honor  for  you,"  said  "Billy"  Armes. 

"I'm  inclined  to  think  that  the  honor  belongs  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Hackett. 
"You  know,  in  the  play  I'm  the  Grain  of  Dust." 

"By  Jove,  you're  right,"  said  Husband  Hackett. 

Magnanimously  he  relinquished  the  prize  pup  to  his  wife.  But  there 
was  consolation.  He  still  had  the  photograph. 


114 


HENRY  HADLEY 


if  ALL  means  you  must  meet  Hank,"  said  Mackenzie  Gordon. 
Now  I  happen  to  know  a  number  of  Henrys  who  are 

BAI£  called  Hank  by  their  familiars,  and  they  are  all  good  fellows. 
09  Bluff,  rough,  slapdash  sort  of  fellows  they  are,  not  too 
n*J  cultivated,  anything  but  esthetic.  I  also  know  a  lot  of 
Henrys  whom  one  would  never  dare  call  Hank,  for  fear 
of  stinging  their  sensitive  hearts.  Then  there  are  a  few 
Henrys  who  stand  between  the  two  classes  and  who  are 
called  Hank  by  their  more  daring  intimates,  but  only  jocularly.  Thus,  I 
have  heard  Henry  Miller  called  Hank,  the  motive  prompting  the  incongruous 
nickname  being  much  the  same  as  that  which  induced  Henry  Beyle  von 
Stendhal  to  have  the  slangy  "Arrigo"  chiseled  on  his  tombstone.  Analyzing 
my  own  state  of  mind  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  I  like  the  out  and  out  Hanks 
more  than  the  Henrys.  And  so,  when  Mackenzie  Gordon  said  to  me  (in 
December,  1911),  "By  all  means  you  must  meet  Hanky"  my  curiosity  was 
pricked. 

"Hank  who?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  Hank  Hadley  who  is  out  here  to  conduct  our  symphony 
orchestra." 

And  so  I  met  Henry  Hadley.  Yes,  Henry  Hadley.  I  do  not  dare  call 
him  Hank.  The  name  doesn't  fit  him  at  all.  It  may  be  all  right  for  Mac- 
kenzie Gordon  to  use  it,  but  then  Mackenzie  Gordon  taught  music  with  him 
at  St.  Paul's  School  in  Garden  City,  Long  Island,  and  Hadley  calls  Mackenzie 
Gordon  "Gordy."  Personally  I  should  no  more  think  of  calling  Henry  Hadley 
Hank  than  I  should  of  calling  Bishop  Nichols  Bill. 

I  met  Henry  Hadley  at  the  Bellevue  Hotel.  It  was  afternoon  and  Hadley 
was  in  correct  afternoon  attire.  A  fine  figure  of  a  young  man  he  is  and,  I 
should  say,  worth  a  lady's  eye  when  he  sets  off  his  slender  height  in  frock 
coat  and  silk  hat.  He  was  bowing  over  a  pretty  woman's  hand  when  I 
reached  the  rendezvous. 

"Let  us  go  in  there  where  we  can  talk  without  being  disturbed,"  he  said, 
greeting  me  with  smiling  blue  eyes. 

We  went  in  there.  We  sat  down  at  a  little  table.  But  almost  immedi- 
ately we  were  disturbed,  disturbed  by  a  white-coated  man  who  gazed  down 
upon  us  with  a  look  of  interrogation  in  his  serious  eyes.  But  there  is  always 
a  way  to  banish  disturbers.  Hadley  murmured  "Scotch,"  I  echoed  the 
murmur,  and  the  disturber  ceased  to  disturb. 

"I  have  been  very,  very  busy,"  said  Hadley.  "What  with  rehearsals, 
selecting  players  and  attending  to  a  thousand  and  one  other  necessary  de- 
tails, I  have  had  hardly  a  moment  to  myself.  But  now  I  am  going  to  let 
George  do  it.  I  am  going  to  run  away  for  a  day  or  two,  to  the  country. 

115 


VARIED    TYPES 

"I  have  prepared  a  little  statement  about  the  San  Francisco  Orchestra 
which  contains,  I  think,  what  you  want  of  me." 

And  Hadley  handed  me  two  nicely  typewritten  sheets,  thin  white  sheets 
that  gave  forth  a  faint  odor  of  perfume. 

They  were  as  grateful  to  the  sight  as  to  the  sense  of  smell.  Here  was 
a  man  who  made  interviewing  easy.  I  took  them  and  was  delighted. 

But  alas!  I  discovered  later  that  copies  of  this  statement,  just  as  nicely 
typewritten  and  no  doubt  just  as  fragrant  with  perfume,  were  handed  to  the 
musical  critics  of  the  morning  papers.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  classed  with 
the  musical  critics  of  the  morning  papers,  those  unerring  men,  all  ear,  who 
tell  us  what's  what  and  why  in  music,  but  of  course  one  cannot  make  an 
interview  out  of  a  statement  which  has  appeared  of  a  Sunday  morning  in  all 
the  daily  papers.  Especially  as  those  naughty  musical  critics  took  the  type- 
written and  perfumed  statement  and  cleverly  shaped  it  into  an  interview, 
supplying  questions  and  interlarding  adjectives  and  adverbs  to  describe  the 
tones  of  Hadley's  soft  musical  voice.  So  I  suppose  we  must  regretfully 
dismiss  the  statement,  and  listen  to  what  Hadley  said. 

"When  the  new  symphony  orchestra  gives  its  first  symphony,"  he  told 
me,  "we  shall  have  sixty-live  musicians.  Most  of  these  are  local  musicians. 
I  brought  with  me  from  the  East  only  Walter  Hornig,  the  first  horn,  who 
used  to  be  with  Victor  Herbert;  Samuel  Neerloo,  the  first  bassoon,  who  is 
from  Amsterdam  and  has  played  with  all  the  large  orchestras;  Seifert,  the 
first  trumpet,  who  was  for  many  years  with  the  New  York  Philharmonic; 
Adolf  Bertram,  the  first  oboe,  who  was  in  the  Metropolitan  Opera  orchestra ; 
Jean  Shanis,  the  first  clarinet,  from  the  Pittsburg  Symphony  orchestra;  and 
last  but  not  least,  Edouard  Tak,  the  concert  master,  an  Amsterdam  musician 
who  was  concert  master  in  Pittsburg  and  also  with  Theodore  Thomas.  The 
rest  are  all  San  Francisco  men,  and  they  are  all  capable,  experienced,  earnest 
musicians. 

"I  cannot  say  too  much  for  the  men  of  San  Francisco  who  have  made 
this  enterprise  possible  by  their  generous  subscriptions.  They  have  placed 
no  restrictions  on  me.  They  have  pledged  enough  money  to  carry  the 
orchestra  along  for  five  years,  and  have  given  me  carte  blanche  to  do  whatever 
I  see  fit  to  do.  I  sincerely  hope  that  at  the  end  of  five  years  the  orchestra 
will  be  on  a  permanent  basis. 

"During  this  first  season  we  shall  give  six  symphony  concerts  and  a 
number  of  concerts  of  a  lighter  nature,  young  folks'  concerts  and  so  on.  We 
hope  to  appeal  to  all  classes,  to  develop  a  taste  and  to  cultivate  an  apprecia- 
tion for  the  best  music  among  the  masses. 

"Next  year  we  expect  to  tour  the  State,  giving  concerts  in  all  the 
principal  cities.  It  is  my  ambition  to  make  this  orchestra  a  great  thing,  not 
only  for  San  Francisco  but  for  the  whole  State. 

"And  of  course  we  are  looking  forward  to  the  World's  Fair.  Music 
should  play  a  great  part  in  the  World's  Fair.  Why  should  we  not  make  it 
worth  the  while  of  the  great  composers  to  write  something  distinctive  for 
the  Panama-Pacific  Exposition?  Richard  Wagner  wrote  his  Centennial 
March  for  the  fair  in  Philadelphia.  Chadwick  commemorated  the  fair  in 

116 


HENRY     HADLEY 


HENRY     HADLEY 

Chicago  musically.  Can  we  not  interest  men  like  Saint-Saens,  Elgar,  Debussy, 
Chadwick  and  Horatio  Parker  in  the  San  Francisco  exposition?" 

It  struck  me  as  a  mighty  good  scheme,  and  I  had  the  temerity  to  suggest 
another  name. 

"And  Sousa  too?"  I  queried,  though  not  without  some  misgiving. 

Hadley  shook  his  head  in  gentle,  smiling  opposition. 

"No,"  he  corrected,  "not  Sousa.  He  is  a  great  musician  in  his  way.  He 
has  written  very  good  popular  music.  He  is  a  dear  friend  of  mine.  But  he  is 
not  the  sort  of  musician  to  enlist  in  such  an  undertaking." 

I  felt  properly  crushed.  I  had  brought  an  outsider  to  the  holy  of  holies, 
but  happily  he  had  not  been  allowed  to  cross  the  threshold.  So  sacrilege 
was  not  committed.  But  just  the  same  I  felt  very  cheap. 

Hadley  told  me  that  there  were  symphony  orchestras  firmly  established 
in  Boston,  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Chicago,  Cincinnati,  St.  Louis,  St.  Paul, 
Minneapolis,  Washington,  Kansas  City,  Denver,  Seattle  and  Los  Angeles. 
He  thought  that  it  was  high  time  San  Francisco  added  her  name  to  the  list, 
and  I  covered  up  my  blunder  about  Sousa  by  agreeing  with  him  most  en- 
thusiastically. 

About  his  own  career  he  speaks  modestly  and  only  when  asked  for 
particulars.  He  was  born  outside  of  Boston  and  has  been  making  music 
since  boyhood.  He  has  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  abroad,  studying,  writing, 
conducting.  Five  years  were  spent  in  Germany  at  the  opera  houses  of 
Cologne  and  Mayence.  He  has  been  guest  conductor  in  all  the  principal 
cities  of  Europe,  waving  the  baton  over  his  own  symphonies  and  symphonic 
poems.  While  in  Germany  he  produced  his  opera  "Safie,"  the  book  of  which 
was  written  by  Edward  Oxenfoot  and  translated  by  Dr.  Neitzel.  For  two 
years  he  had  been  conducting  the  symphony  orchestra  of  Seattle. 

That  he  conducted  it  successfully  Seattle  people  will  tell  you ;  also  they 
will  tell  you  with  what  regret  they  saw  him  lured  to  San  Francisco. 

He  is  destined  to  become  a  great  personage  in  our  musical  life.  That 
goes  without  saying,  for  he  is  already  a  great  personage  in  the  world  of 
American  music.  But  no  matter  how  well  we  get  to  know  him,  I  don't  think 
anyone  except  Mackenzie  Gordon  will  ever  have  the  hardihood  to  call  him 
Hank. 


119 


LEWIS  E.  HANCHETT 


'EADING  a  short  time  ago  in  one  of  the  local  papers  that 
^  Lewis  E.  Hanchett  had  just  acquired  a  large  parcel  of  land 
in  Los  Angeles  and  contemplated  the  removal  of  a  large 
manufacturing  plant  from  this  city  to  the  southern  metrop- 
^;S  olis,  I  experienced  mixed  emotions  of  surprise  and  curiosity. 
fa  Why  should  a  man  who  has  always  been  so  loyal  to  North- 
ern California  move  a  large  manufacturing  plant  across  the 
Tehachapi?  Did  Lewis  E.  Hanchett  intend  to  desert  the 
city  he  has  always  shown  such  fondness  for?  What  was  the  nature  of  the 
transaction  in  Los  Angeles  land? 

I  went  to  Hanchett  and  put  my  questions.  Most  of  them  he  answered 
frankly  and  very  fully.  He  is  not  the  sort  of  business  man  who  shrouds  his 
doings  in  an  unnecessary  veil  of  mystery.  At  the  same  time  I  found  him  to 
be  that  rara  avis,  a  man  of  large  affairs  who  shrinks  from  personal  advertise- 
ment. Lewis  E.  Hanchett  has  a  genuine  dislike  for  that  press  exploitation  on 
which  most  business  men  thrive.  He  is  not  too  busy  doing  things  to  stop 
and  talk  about  them,  but  most  decidedly  he  won't  talk  about  himself.  To 
the  interviewer  such  men  are  very,  very  refreshing. 

I  learned  from  Lewis  E.  Hanchett  that  the  Los  Angeles  real  estate  deal 
was  one  of  very  large  proportions.  He  has  invested  two  and  one-half  million 
dollars  in  land  covering  several  acres  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the 
old  plaza.  His  holdings  are  hard  by  the  Pico  House,  the  adobe  church  and 
the  new  Post  Office.  In  the  faraway  times  when  Los  Angeles  was  a  pueblo 
this  section  was  the  centre  of  population,  and  strange  as  it  may  seem,  it 
remains  the  centre  of  population  not  only  for  the  city  but  also  for  the  county 
of  Los  Angeles.  This  curious  fact  which  is  not  instantly  apparent  to  those 
who  know  Los  Angeles  was  discovered  and  announced  by  our  old  friend  Bion 
Arnold  who  studied  the  street  railway  situation  of  the  southern  city  in  much 
the  same  way  that  he  studied  ours.  Obviously  this  was  a  very  good  place  to 
buy  land. 

Hanchett's  intention  is  to  make  this  an  industrial  centre.  At  the  present 
time  the  industrial  districts  of  Los  Angeles  are  pretty  far  out.  None  of  the 
factories  or  warehouses  of  Los  Angeles  has  quick  access  to  all  the  railroads, 
the  result  being  that  a  loss  of  twenty-four  hours  in  switching  is  quite  a 
common  thing.  Hanchett  will  remedy  this  with  his  new  industrial  centre, 
for  he  is  going  to  bring  the  tracks  of  three  big  railroads,  the  Southern 
Pacific,  the  Santa  Fe  and  the  Salt  Lake,  right  up  to  the  doors  of  the  manu- 
facturers. He  has  spent  two  and  one-half  millions  already;  he  is  going  to 
spend  a  million  more  in  building,  some  of  it  San  Francisco  money.  Just  what 
the  manufacturing  plant  is  which  he  will  move  from  this  city  he  did  not  feel 
at  liberty  to  state. 

120 


LEWIS     E.     HANCHETT 

Hanchett  loves  San  Francisco.  A  native  of  San  Jose  he  is  loyal  to 
Northern  California.  But  business  is  not  founded  on  sentiment,  and  he  has 
excellent  reasons  for  embarking  on  this  big  business  deal  in  Los  Angeles. 
Some  of  those  reasons  may  contain  a  lesson  for  this  city,  for  though  there 
are  many  things  about  Los  Angeles  which  excite  our  righteous  indignation 
it  must  be  admitted  that  we  can  study  certain  of  its  methods  with  considerable 
profit. 

There  is  in  Los  Angeles  a  civic  enthusiasm  not  always  displayed  here. 
For  instance,  when  it  was  made  known  that  Hanchett  had  acquired  a  large 
parcel  of  land  and  meant  to  improve  it,  the  Los  Angeles  papers  voiced  the 
satisfaction  of  the  community,  devoting  pages  to  the  news.  There  was  so 
much  publicity  that  three  large  concerns  immediately  made  application  for 
space  in  the  new  industrial  centre. 

"If  you  bought  twenty-eight  acres  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lotta's  Foun- 
tain," says  Hanchett  with  an  exaggeration  that  is  pardonable  because  it  drives 
his  meaning  home,  "you  could  hold  it  till  San  Francisco  bay  froze  over  with- 
out receiving  one  such  application." 

I  learned  from  Hanchett  just  why  Los  Angeles  lends  itself  to  an  invest- 
ment of  this  sort,  and  incidentally,  why  San  Francisco  does  not;  why  manu- 
facturers are  going  to  Los  Angeles  every  day  while  at  the  same  time  they 
are  not  only  not  coming  to  this  city  but  are  actually  leaving  it.  He  pointed 
out  to  me  that  a  manufacturing  concern  seeking  a  factory  site  in  the  old  dis- 
trict south  of  Market  street,  a  district  which  has  remained  woefully  unim- 
proved since  1906,  would  be  met  with  demands  for  such  fabulous  rentals  that 
paying  interest  on  an  investment  there  would  be  practically  impossible.  The 
land  values  are  so  high  that  they  are  prohibitive  for  the  manufacturer  seeking 
the  site  for  a  big  factory ;  so  high  that  after  paying  taxes  the  earning  of  six 
per  cent  on  an  investment  becomes  problematical.  Obviously  the  manu- 
facturer will  not  try  to  solve  the  problem.  He  will  simply  look  elsewhere 
for  more  reasonable  valuations. 

"In  Los  Angeles,"  says  Hanchett,  "land  values  are  high  in  certain  dis- 
tricts, but  they  are  not  high  when  you  go  just  outside  those  districts.  I  paid 
less  for  the  land  I  have  bought  than  I'd  pay  for  residence  property  in  San 
Francisco." 

It  is  Hanchett's  opinion,  as  it  is  the  opinion  of  many  others,  that  our 
high  rentals  help  to  account  for  the  removal  of  manufacturing  concerns  from 
San  Francisco  to  districts  on  the  outskirts  of  Oakland,  to  Fruitvale,  to 
Pittsburg,  to  all  the  region  around  Martinez  and  to  Richmond  whose  growth 
within  the  past  few  years  has  been  quite  marvelous.  The  same  thing  applies 
equally  to  the  establishment  in  these  districts  of  new  manufacturing  concerns 
which  would  have  entered  San  Francisco  if  conditions  were  favorable  here. 
If  all  this  business  had  been  saved  to  San  Francisco  our  manufacturing 
district  would  have  expanded  down  the  peninsula.  Perhaps  it  would  have 
grown  in  that  direction  anyway  were  it  not  that  there  is  no  satisfactory  outlet 
from  San  Francisco  to  that  region. 

"You  see,"  said  Hanchett,  "I  do  not  lay  San  Francisco's  failure  to  grow 
in  manufactures  entirely  to  labor  conditions.  At  the  same  time  it  must  be 

121 


VARIED     TYPES 

admitted  that  Los  Angeles  has  better  labor  conditions  than  we  have.  No 
clique  of  union  leaders  and  agitators  has  Los  Angeles  by  the  throat.  Los 
Angeles  is  not  unfair  to  labor.  Wages  there  are  not  much  lower  than  in 
San  Francisco.  But  the  employer  of  labor  can  choose  his  workingmen  and 
he  can  demand  a  full  day's  work  from  them.  When  a  man  is  inefficient  he  can 
discharge  him.  With  no  limit  placed  on  a  man's  output  and  the  wage  scale 
almost  the  same  as  ours,  the  amount  of  work  done  in  Los  Angeles  in  a  given 
time  is  greater  than  here.  And  the  conditions  of  employment  are  an  incentive 
to  hard  work,  to  honest  work,  to  quickness  and  efficiency  on  the  part  of  the 
individual  workingman." 

I  asked  Hanchett  about  the  commercial  future  of  Los  Angeles  as  com- 
pared with  the  commercial  future  of  San  Francisco.  He  disclaimed  the  gift 
of  prophecy.  But  he  pointed  out  some  interesting  things.  Los  Angeles  is 
of  course  not  a  sea  port,  so  it  cannot  enjoy  the  terminal  rates  given  to  San 
Francisco  and  San  Diego.  At  the  same  time,  Los  Angeles  has  had  the 
foresight  to  secure  a  sea  port  at  San  Pedro  and  while  freight  consigned  to 
Los  Angeles  must  pay  a  terminal  rate  to  San  Pedro  and  a  local  to  Los 
Angeles,  the  additional  charge  is  not  large  and  will  be  minimized  if  Los 
Angeles  builds  the  proposed  railroad  along  the  "shoe  string."  So  Los 
Angeles  merchants  will  be  able  to  absorb  the  difference  in  freight  rates,  and 
will  be  serious  competitors  of  the  merchants  of  this  city. 

"Canal  traffic  will  make  a  material  change  in  the  trade  zones,"  says 
Hanchett.  "The  probable  effect  will  be  to  interfere  seriously  with  through 
transcontinental  business.  Goods  will  be  brought  through  the  canal  to  the 
sea  ports  and  distributed  inland.  San  Diego,  for  instance,  will  supply  the 
territory  east  of  San  Diego  until  the  rate  by  sea  is  equalized  by  the  rail  rate 
from  Kansas  City  or  Chicago.  So  with  Los  Angeles  and  San  Francisco.  In 
this  connection  it  must  be  remembered  that  Los  Angeles  and  San  Diego  are 
a  good  deal  farther  east  than  San  Francisco.  A  look  at  the  map  will  indicate 
their  advantage  in  this  respect.  They  can  get  to  some  big  inland  markets 
quicker  than  we  can.  Of  course  San  Pedro  harbor  is  not  to  be  compared  to 
our  harbor.  But  do  we  make  the  best  use  of  our  harbor?" 

That  was  a  poser.    I  had  no  answer,  and  very  discreetly  I  attempted  none. 


122 


CHARLES  F.  HANLON 


HERE  was  a  time  within  the  memory  of  all  when  the  stage 
Johnnie  was  one  of  San  Francisco's  most  cherished  institu- 
tions. Those  were  the  days  when  the  gay  boys  of  all  ages 
used  to  swarm  out  of  the  Pacific-Union  and  the  Bohemian 
Club  to  toss  their  purses  and  their  fickle  hearts  at  the  feet  of 
the  footlight  favorites.  The  frowning  keeper  of  the  stage 
door  had  no  sinecure  then,  the  florists  were  hard  put  to  it  to 
supply  the  demand  for  American  beauties,  and  the  cham- 
pagne agents  radiated  prosperity.  But  today  the  race  of  johnnies  within 
our  gates  is  nearly  extinct.  Now  and  then  we  run  across  a  battered  old 
blade  whose  chalk  stones  and  dyspeptic  disposition  are  the  only  remains  of 
his  early  triumphs,  and  it  may  be  that  after  the  third  glass  he  will  discourse 
of  the  merry  nights  that  are  no  more.  He  will  probably  lament  the  passing 
of  his  picturesque  class  and  sorrow  over  the  feeble  temper  of  the  modern 
youth  whose  homage  is  no  longer  given  to  the  celebrities  of  the  calcium 
light. 

The  old  boy  is  pretty  nearly  correct.  The  race  is  practically  extinct. 
The  stage  no  longer  lures  as  of  old.  But  we  may  extract  a  melancholy  sort 
of  pleasure  from  the  knowledge  that  one  of  those  old-timers  is  still  with 
us  and  that  the  passage  of  years  has  failed  to  rob  him  of  his  enthusiasm 
for  the  queens  of  the  theatre.  Charles  F.  Hanlon  is  the  last  of  the  San 
Francisco  johnnies. 

Charles  F.  Hanlon's  middle  name  is  Fascination.  For  more  years 
probably  than  he  is  willing  to  confess  Charley  has  been  fascinating  the 
ladies  of  the  stage.  Like  some  of  the  charmers  on  whom  he  has  exercised 
his  winning  ways,  he  has  come  down  to  us  from  a  former  generation,  but 
age  cannot  wither  or  custom  stale  the  infinite  variety  of  his  conquering 
graces.  While  many  of  his  romantic  dreams  have  been  staged  in  this  city, 
he  is  in  reality  a  cosmopolitan  and  his  paste  board  is  honored  at  the  stage 
doors  of  the  Rue  de  1'Opera,  Piccadilly  and  Forty-second  street  as  well  as 
on  the  local  Rialto. 

Charley  can  probably  remember  the  time  when  he  was  not  a  Johnnie, 
but  nobody  else  can.  It  is  quite  likely  that  he  was  already  infatuating 
actresses  in  those  faraway  days  when  he  was  drinking  knowledge  at  St. 
Ignatius  College  or  mastering  the  quiddities  of  the  law  in  John  Burnett's 
office.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  Charley  has  actually  found  time  to  devote 
to  such  serious  avocations  as  learning  and  law.  Although  he  has  always 
been  careful  not  to  allow  the  pedestrian  labors  of  his  profession  to  interfere 
with  his  real  career,  it  must  be  allowed  that  his  intervals  of  legal  labor  have 
been  richly  rewarded.  It  is  quite  a  commonplace  thing  for  Charley  to 
saunter  into  a  case  when  there  is  nothing  more  exciting  on  the  carpet,  and 

123 


VARIED     TYPES 

to  stroll  out  with  a  fee  of  fifty  or  seventy-five  thousand  dollars.  Something 
of  that  fascination  which  he  exerts  over  stage  stars  has  its  effect  on  judges 
and  juries.  He  wins  suits  at  law  as  easily  as  he  captures  hearts  and  this  is 
a  fortunate  characteristic,  for  Charley  is  enabled  to  spend  on  the  stars  what 
he  earns  in  the  courtroom.  Many  a  beauty  has  reason  to  bless  the  day 
when  he  probated  the  Donohue  will,  for  Charley  drew  down  something  like 
sixty  thousand  dollars  when  that  bit  of  work  was  completed.  Even  if  I 
knew  I  shouldn't  tell  how  many  diamonds,  how  many  champagne  suppers, 
how  many  cabs  were  paid  for  out  of  the  eighty  thousand  dollars  or  so  he 
earned  in  the  famous  Pratt  case.  And  so  it  has  always  gone.  The  law  has 
been  a  smiling  and  liberal  mistress  to  Charley.  He  has  achieved  that  con- 
clusive distinction,  the  envy  of  less  fortunate  practitioners.  Noting  the 
crowds  of  litigants  that  crowd  his  offices  all  day  long,  weighted  down  with 
retainers,  they  have  manufactured  the  story  that  Charley  hires  idlers  of 
both  sexes  at  a  dollar  a  day  to  sit  in  his  waiting  room  and  impress  his 
importance  upon  his  real  clients.  That  of  course  is  a  canard.  If  you  don't 
think  so,  ask  him  and  see  what  he  says.  But  it  won't  be  easy  to  ask  him  in 
business  hours.  You  must  wait  your  turn  and  even  when  your  turn  comes, 
you  must  run  the  gauntlet  of  Charley's  "manager,"  a  functionary  who 
analyzes  your  business  and  passes  judgment,  from  which  there  is  no  appeal, 
as  to  the  propriety  of  your  obtaining  an  audience. 

Once  you  are  admitted  to  Charley's  inner  office,  you  will  be  properly 
impressed.  Charley  has  a  taste  for  art  and  his  sanctum  is  really  a  shrine  of 
estheticism.  The  prevailing  note  would  be  rococo  were  it  not  for  the  photo- 
graphs which  give  the  room  an  atmosphere  of  art  nouveau.  The  photo- 
graphs of  course  are  the  pictures  of  stage  beauties  and  there  is  a  story  for 
every  picture,  only  casually  indicated  by  the  delicious  superscription.  Whose 
picture  has  the  place  of  honor?  Well,  up  to  a  short  time  ago  it  was  the 
counterfeit  presentment  of  Anna  Held.  She  is  shown  not  once  but  many 
times  and  on  every  photograph  is  an  expression  of  her  profound  regard  for 
Charles  Fascination  Hanlon.  For  Anna  is  a  close  friend  of  Charley's.  So  for 
that  matter  is  Anna  Held's  former  husband,  Florenz  Ziegfeld.  In  Charley's 
opinion  there  is  nothing  too  good  for  Anna,  just  as  there  is  nothing  too 
good  for  the  rest  of  his  theatrical  friends.  It  was  not  so  very  long  ago 
that  Charley  made  one  of  his  frequent  visits  to  Europe.  Charley  goes  to 
Europe  so  often  that  the  captains  of  all  the  big  steamers  call  him  by  his 
first  name  and  Charley,  not  to  be  outdone,  reciprocates.  On  the  occasion 
of  his  last  trip  it  happened  that  Anna  Held  was  in  Paris.  It  was  the  time 
of  the  big  annual  automobile  show  in  Paris  and  Anna  was  naturally  eager 
to  win  a  prize  with  her  big  car.  Perhaps  she  mentioned  her  ambition  to 
Charley;  perhaps  Charley,  with  that  intuitive  power  which  stands  him  in 
good  stead  in  such  matters,  divined  it  before  any  word  was  spoken.  But  at 
any  rate  Charley  summoned  the  best  florist  in  Paris  to  the  best  hotel  in  Paris, 
where  of  course  Charley  had  the  best  apartments  in  the  house,  and  ordered 
him  to  decorate  Miss  Held's  car  for  the  show.  The  florist  obeyed  and  of 
course  Anna  won  the  first  prize.  For  a  whole  day  Paris  talked  about  the 

124 


CHARLES     F.    HANLON 


CHARLES     F.    HANLON 

beauty  of  her  flower-laden  car.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  Charley  has  so  many 
pictures  of  Anna? 

But  of  late  Charley  has  been  worshiping  at  another  altar.  All  the  town 
knows  to  whom  I  refer.  Lillian  Russell  with  all  her  airy  fairiness  has  felt 
the  charm  of  Charley's  irresistible  manner.  As  soon  as  she  came  to  the  city 
Charley  placed  himself  at  her  disposal.  One  of  the  first  things  he  did  was 
to  entertain  her  at  a  Press  Club  supper  to  which  one  hundred  and  fifty 
members  of  the  club  were  invited.  The  speech  which  Charley  made  that 
night  will  live  in  the  annals  of  the  Press  Club.  For  Charley  is  an  amazing 
speechmaker.  He  likes  to  make  speeches,  if  only  for  the  purpose  of  finding 
excuse  to  tell  his  favorite  stories.  When  the  Press  Club  entertained  Harry 
Lauder  Charley  was  the  only  member  who  dared  regale  Harry  with  a 
story.  It  was  such  an  unusual  story  that  Lauder  said  afterwards  that  he 
couldn't  forget  it,  much  as  he  might  try.  But  on  the  occasion  of  the  Lillian 
Russell  supper  Charley  told  his  most  representative  stories,  weaving  them 
together  in  a  bouquet  of  words  for  the  delectation  of  his  beautiful  guest. 
There  was  nobody  present  to  take  that  speech  down  and  probably  it  is  just 
as  well.  Repetition  spoils  such  things.  They  should  find  their  immortality 
only  in  the  memory  of  those  who  heard  them.  That  is  one  of  the  reasons 
why  I  shall  not  attempt  to  summarize  Charley's  speech  or  repeat  any  of  his 
stories. 

That  supper  was  the  least  of  the  things  Charley  did  for  Lillian.  He 
placed  his  automobile  at  her  disposal  and  then,  when  he  saw  how  much  she 
enjoyed  honking  about  town,  he  presented  her  with  a  big  motor  car.  It 
cost  $5,000  but  that  is  a  bagatelle  to  Charley.  "Darn  the  expense"  has 
always  been  his  motto  in  such  matters.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  Miss  Russell's 
picture  has  been  given  a  prominent  position  in  Charley's  sanctum? 

I  have  not  by  any  means  exhausted  the  catalogue  of  Charley's  claims 
to  fame.  I  might  tell  of  his  wonderful  collection  of  music  which  includes 
every  score  and  every  song  of  any  merit  that  has  been  published  in  Europe 
for  years  past.  I  might  tell  how  he  officiates  at  the  auction  pools  on  the 
ocean  steamers.  I  might  tell  of  the  celebrated  drink,  consisting  of  equal 
portions  of  porter  and  champagne,  which  he  invented.  But  these  are  details. 
Charles  Fascination  Hanlon  is  first  of  all  a  Johnnie,  the  last  of  the  class  in 
San  Francisco,  and  when  some  faroff  day  shall  have  put  an  end  to  his  career, 
a  chorus  from  fair  lips  in  many  lands  will  fervently  exclaim,  "We  ne'er  shall 
look  upon  his  like  again." 


127 


BISHOP  EDWARD  J.  HANNA 


O  LOOK  at  him,  you'd  never  think  it.  To  see  the  winning 
smile  that  constantly  illuminates  his  dark,  handsome  face 
and  to  hear  the  music  of  his  soft  and  sympathetic  voice,  you'd 
never  dream  of  such  a  thing.  Never  in  the  world !  Yet  it's 
true.  He  told  me  so  himself. 

The  auxiliary  bishop  of  the  Catholic  archdiocese  of  San 
Francisco  is  descended  from  "Roaring"  Hanna. 

Who  was  "Roaring"  Hanna?  You  don't  have  to  ask  a 
North  of  Ireland  man  that  question  more  than  once.  If  he's  a  Catholic  he'll 
communicate  his  private  notion  as  to  "Roaring"  Hanna's  eternal  home  by 
way  of  answer.  If  he's  an  Orangeman  he'll  tell  you  that  "Roaring"  Hanna 
was  one  of  the  greatest  Orangemen  Ulster  ever  produced  and  that  he  is 
fittingly  commemorated  by  a  statue  in  the  heart  of  Belfast.  "Roaring" 
Hanna !  Can't  you  hear  him  singing  "The  Battle  of  the  Boyne"  on  the 
Twelfth  of  July? 

Yes,  "Roaring"  Hanna  was  one  of  Bishop  Hanna's  ancestors.  Little  he 
dreamed  as  he  presided  over  his  Orange  Lodge  that  a  distinguished  descendant 
of  his  would  celebrate  Mass  on  St.  Patrick's  Day  in  San  Francisco! 

"But  I  came  by  my  Catholicism  honestly,"  said  Bishop  Hanna,  and  for 
a  gloss  on  that  quaint  expression  he  gave  me  something  of  his  family  history. 

Bishop  Hanna  has  a  piercing  look  in  his  dark  eyes.  It's  not  the  look 
you'd  expect  to  find  in  the  eyes  of  a  theologian  wrapped  in  the  commerce 
of  books,  but  the  keen  vision  of  the  clergyman  of  affairs.  One  concludes  that 
while  a  great  part  of  Bishop  Hanna's  life /has  been  given  to  writing  and 
teaching  he  has  found  plenty  of  time  for  the  more  energetic  activities  of  his 
spiritual  office.  And  that  keen  look  betokens  a  keen  mind. 

I  wanted  Bishop  Hanna's  ideas  on  several  questions  of  local  interest. 
But  I  didn't  get  them.  His  Lordship  is  distinguished  by  an  intelligent 
cautiousness  that  is  rather  more  rare  in  clergymen  than  it  might  be. 

"Why  should  I  presume  to  have  opinions  about  conditions  in  a  com- 
munity which  I  have  known  for  only  ten  weeks?"  he  asked  me.  "I  am  still 
getting  acquainted.  I  am  in  the  'reception'  stage  of  my  work  here.  I  am 
meeting  people  at  receptions,  greeting  them  and  being  greeted.  Any  opinions 
I  might  express  on  local  matters  would  be  superficial." 

I  could  not  resist  the  impulse  of  telling  Bishop  Hanna  that  other 
clergymen  have  made  haste  less  slowly.  I  instanced  the  distinguished  Doctor 
Aked  who  has  a  ready-made  formula  for  every  contingency. 

Bishop  Hanna  was  strangely  silent. 

Which  seemed  an  adequate  appraisal,  so  I  said  no  more. 

Bishop  Hanna  is  impressed  by  the  local  organization  of  the  church  he 
represents.  He  is  enthusiastic  about  its  machinery  for  doing  good. 

128 


BISHOP     EDWARD    J.     HANNA 


BISHOP     EDWARD     J.     HANNA 

"We  hear  much  nowadays,"  he  said,  "about  prophylaxis,  the  preventive 
treatment  for  disease.  This  sort  of  treatment  is  not  confined  to  physical 
conditions.  We  have  moral  prophylaxis  too,  the  preventive  treatment  for 
moral  ills.  I  do  not  like  the  phrase  particularly,  but  it  describes  the  work 
which  is  being  done  by  the  numerous  Catholic  institutions  throughout  the 
city.  The  Catholic  Humane  Bureau,  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society,  the  Sisters  of 
the  Holy  Family,  the  Helpers  of  Souls  and  many  other  institutions  in  the 
charge  of  nuns  and  lay  women  are  laboring,  not  by  passing  resolutions  or 
advancing  theories,  but  by  actual  work  among  the  poor,  the  helpless  and  the 
ignorant  of  all  beliefs  to  save  them  from  evil  and  to  make  them  better  men 
and  women  and  therefore  better  citizens." 

"Do  you  find  the  women  of  San  Francisco  as  much  interested  in  such 
work  as  the  women  elsewhere?"  I  asked. 

"More  so,"  said  Bishop  Hanna  emphatically. 

"Their  interest  in  politics  has  not  taken  them  away  from  this  sort  of 
work?" 

"So  far  I  have  met  few  women  who  vote,"  replied  the  Bishop. 

"What  is  your  opinion  of  woman's  suffrage?" 

"That  is  probably  the  most  difficult  problem  that  has  been  presented  to 
us  in  a  thousand  years,"  said  Bishop  Hanna  after  a  good  deal  of  silent 
consideration  of  the  question.  "We  know  what  has  been  said  of  its  practical 
working  in  Australia  and  New  Zealand  but  that  doesn't  help  us,  for  ours  is 
a  different  people.  There  are  of  course  certain  general  principles  from  which 
we  may  draw  conclusions  as  to  the  way  it  may  work  out,  but  it  is  safer  to 
wait,  to  observe  what  actually  happens. 

"We  know  from  our  study  of  history  that  there  have  been  epochs  when 
women  were  in  the  ascendancy,  when  women  sought  equal  political  rights 
with  men,  and  that  such  epochs  were  epochs  of  deteriorating  civilization. 

"We  know  that  there  is  a  difference  between  the  sexes,  and  that  despite 
what  may  be  said  of  the  equality  of  the  sexes,  there  is  a  definite  dependence 
of  woman  on  man  and  in  the  Christian  ideal,  the  one  sex  supplements  the 
other — 'verily  they  are  two  in  one  flesh.' 

"Then  again,  have  women  the  talent  for  administration  which  men  have? 
That  is  important,  because  in  this  country  women  will  not  be  content  to 
vote;  they  will  want  to  hold  office  too. 

"For  the  Catholic  women  the  problem  is  simpler  than  for  others.  The 
Catholic  woman  has  the  infallible  counsel  of  God  to  guide  her.  She  knows 
that  she  must  obey  her  husband,  be  subject  to  him.  Will  this  equality  of 
political  right  interfere  with  her  observance  of  the  counsel  of  God? 

"And  will  this  political  equality  give  an  impetus  to  moral  laxity?  Will 
it  increase  divorce?  Will  it  take  woman  away  from  home  and  the  sacred 
duties  of  home? 

The  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle  is  the  hand  that  rules  the  world.'  Many 
are  inclined  to  laugh  at  that  old  saying  nowadays.  But  may  it  not  be  true? 
In  the  highest  development  of  domestic  life  and  in  the  highest  development 
of  women's  gifts,  would  not  the  mother  rule  the  state  without  voting,  merely 
by  her  influence  with  her  sons? 

131 


VARIED    TYPES 

"If  woman's  suffrage  meant  merely  the  dropping  of  a  ballot  in  an  urn  the 
problem  would  be  simple.  But  political  activity  is  by  no  means  confined  to 
that.  Casting  a  vote  is  one  thing;  active  participation  in  politics  is  a  great 
deal  more.  Your  sister  or  my  sister  is  certainly  better  equipped  for  voting 
than  the  ignorant  immigrant  who  works  in  the  street.  If  voting  will  make 
the  woman  a  better  mother  to  her  sons,  it  is  a  good  thing. 

"But  isn't  it  bad  enough  to  give  all  men  the  right  to  vote,  as  we  do  in 
this  democracy,  without  also  giving  all  women  the  same  right?  Will  it  change 
the  result?  Will  it  multiply  our  evils  by  two  or  tend  to  eradicate  them?  If 
a  moral  issue  were  presented  squarely  to  the  voters,  perhaps  the  influence  of 
women  would  be  felt  on  the  right  side.  But  this  so  rarely  happens.  On 
ordinary  occasions  I  suppose  women  will  vote  as  men  vote,  for  women  always 
follow  men." 

Bishop  Hanna  is  conservative.  He  looks  at  both  sides  of  the  problem, 
finding  good  and  bad,  but  trusting  that  the  future  will  minimize  the  bad.  He 
doesn't  pretend  to  know  all  about  it  in  advance.  He  doesn't  pretend  to  know 
all  about  anything,  least  of  all  about  human  beings.  One  thing  he  said  will 
illustrate  this. 

"I  lived  for  many  years  in  Italy,"  he  told  me.  "I  was  there  so  long  that 
I  believe  I  talked  Italian  better  than  I  did  English.  I  saw  the  Italians  under 
all  sorts  of  conditions.  But  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand  the  Italians.  The 
tourist  who  spends  three  weeks  doing  Italy  knows  all  about  the  Italians  and 
their  problems.  That  is,  he  thinks  he  does.  But  after  spending  years  in  Italy 
I  am  still  a  great  deal  in  the  dark  about  that  wonderful  race." 

Apply  this  to  woman  suffrage.  Apply  it  to  local  conditions.  Note  the 
caution  with  which  Bishop  Hanna  approaches  discussion  even  of  the  more 
general  phases  of  woman  suffrage.  Note  the  firmness  with  which  he  refuses 
to  have  anything  at  all  to  say  about  local  conditions.  Then  decide  whether 
this  reticence  is  not  more  admirable  than  the  loquacity  of  other  clergymen, 
newcomers  among  us,  who  have  a  great  deal  to  say  about  everything  under 
the  sun.  Apparently  your  teacher  of  theology  absorbs  some  of  the  prudent 
wisdom  of  medieval  doctors. 


132 


RICHARD  HOTALING 


HY  AM  I  on  the  stage?" 

Richard  Hotaling  smiled  as  he  repeated  the  question. 
It  was  quite  apparent  that  he  liked  the  question.  I  doubt 
whether  the  interviewer  could  frame  any  question  which 
Hotaling  would  like  quite  as  much.  It  gave  him  a  chance 
to  talk  about  himself.  It  is  a  subject  in  which  he  is  frankly 
and  enthusiastically  interested.  And  because  he  is  an  ex- 
ceptionally good  talker  who  carries  you  along  easily  by  his 
swift  volubility  of  well  chosen  phrases,  it  is  a  subject  in  which  you  speedily 
become  interested  too. 

"It  is  a  hard  question  to  answer,"  he  went  on  without  any  trace  of 
hesitation,  "unless  one  answers  it  from  the  standpoint  of  what  amuses  one. 
Being  on  the  stage  amuses  me.  Some  men,  Colonel  Roosevelt  for  instance, 
like  to  hunt.  I  don't.  My  repugnance  for  killing  any  living  thing  is  almost 
as  great  as  Mrs.  Fiske's  and  Mrs.  Fiske  once  said  to  me,  'Oh,  that  I  had  the 
courage  of  Charlotte  Corday,  so  that  I  might  kill  that  horrible  man  Roose- 
velt !' 

"I  dislike  all  kinds  of  waste.  I  couldn't  bear  to  sit  around  here  sucking 
tobacco  into  my  mouth  and  blowing  out  smoke.  It  would  bore  me  to  play 
billiards,  as  those  chaps  are  doing.  I'd  rather  take  a  walk  with  crumbs  in  my 
pocket  and  feed  the  birds  or  stand  at  this  window  and  watch  the  passing 
show." 

Ample  gesticulation  accompanied  the  hurried  sentences.  We  were 
sitting  in  the  card  room  of  the  Athenian  Club  and  my  eye  followed  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Hotaling's  outstretched  arm,  first  to  the  billiard  room  across 
the  hall  where  Oakland's  leisured  men  were  cuing  and  miscuing,  and  then 
to  the  window  through  which  Oakland's  leisured  street  activities  were  on 
view.  But  my  eye  went  quickly  back  to  Mr.  Hotaling's  eager,  smiling  face. 
Baldness  is  pushing  its  way  over  the  top  of  his  head  and  his  hair  is  graying 
perceptibly,  as  if  in  terror  of  its  approach.  Many  wrinkles  have  cut  their 
parallels  across  his  forehead  and  there  are  vertical  lines  on  either  side  of  his 
mouth.  But  his  blue  eyes  shine  and  the  features  are  firm.  Evidently  his  face 
has  been  marked  not  by  the  fullness  of  time  but  by  the  fullness  of  life,  by 
that  enthusiasm  of  existence  which  shows  in  all  he  says.  And  he  kept  right 
on  saying: 

"Too  many  Americans  want  to  cut  themselves  to  the  usual  stamp  and 
are  inclined  to  think  that  all  who  do  not  are  fools.  But  I  am  never  afraid  to 
do  the  unconventional  thing;  and  as  long  as  I  keep  within  bounds  why  should 
I  not  do  the  thing  which  is  the  expression  of  what  is  in  me?  I  am  younger 
today  than  when  I  was  a  boy.  Acting  is  my  gambol. 

"And  is  it  so  strange  that  I  should  act?    Joe  Redding  tells  me  that  the 

133 


VARIED    TYPES 

late  Lord  Salisbury  loved  ivory  carving  and  that  Mr.  Balfour  is  a  fine 
violinist.  Then  too,  the  president  of  the  Elevated  Roads  in  Chicago  is  an 
art  blacksmith.  Our  own  Willis  Davis  is  an  excellent  wood  carver." 

Lord  Salisbury,  Mr.  Balfour,  the  president  of  the  Chicago  L,  Willis 
Davis  and  Mr.  Hotaling — somehow  the  list  lacks  cohesion;  but  when  one 
remembers  the  ivory  carving,  the  wood  carving,  the  art  blacksmithing,  the 
violin  and  the  buskin,  all  superimposed  upon  inartistic  pursuits,  it  carries 
a  certain  measure  of  conviction.  I  do  not  know  how  Mr.  Balfour,  the  Chicago 
man  and  Willis  Davis  regard  their  business  activities,  but  Mr.  Hotaling 
enlightened  me  about  his. 

"You  might  ask  me,"  he  said  (and  so  I  might),  "how  I  keep  business 
obligations  while  I  am  acting  in  Oakland.  I  can  only  account  for  it  by  a 
wonderful  adaptability  that  gives  me  a  certain  measure  of  success  in  all  I 
attempt." 

Which,  I  should  hazard,  may  also  apply  to  Lord  Salisbury,  Mr.  Balfour, 
the  Chicago  man  and  Mr.  Willis  Davis.  But  I  did  not  pursue  the  subject, 
being  much  more  keenly  interested  in  Mr.  Hotaling's  dramatic  diversions. 

"It  all  goes  back,"  he  explained,  "to  the  cellar  circuses  of  my  boyhood 
days.  We  were  four  brothers  and  we  gave  the  usual  performances  for  a 
bottle  or  a  sack  at  our  old  home  in  Howard  street  between  Twelfth  and 
Thirteenth.  When  I  left  Andover  at  nineteen  I  played  Richelieu  for  a  church 
in  which  my  mother  was  interested.  I  was  just  a  youngster  then,  trying  to 
give  an  imitation  of  Edwin  Booth.  Of  course  my  performance  of  Richelieu 
today  is  far  away  from  that  early  one.  Then  I  acted  in  amateur  affairs  with 
Judge  Murasky  and  Blanche  Bates  and  Olive  Oliver  and  Hal  Blinn.  Hal  and 
I — Holbrooke  Blinn,  you  know — used  to  be  great  friends  and  for  days  we 
would  do  nothing  but  imitate  a  Portuguese  or  a  Frenchman  or  a  German 
talking  English." 

And  Mr.  Hotaling  fell  at  once  into  mimicry,  giving  me  samples  from  his 
dialect  repertoire.  It  suggested  a  question. 

"Why  do  you  play  Shylock  with  an  accent?" 

"I  play  Shylock  with  a  strong  Yiddish  accent,"  he  answered,  "because 
I  can't  play  him  any  other  way.  It's  simply  the  character  inside  of  me 
coming  out.  Acting,  you  know,  is  an  obsession.  The  body,  the  individuality 
is  set  aside  and  the  personality  is  so  tinctured  and  flavored  by  the  character 
the  actor  is  trying  to  portray  that  all  the  physical  attributes  of  the  actor  are 
absolutely  under  the  control  of  the  role.  In  Shylock  I  can't  give  up  the 
dialect.  Besides,  I've  visited  the  Jewish  quarters  in  Prague  and  other 
European  cities.  But  to  keep  right  at  home,  go  and  talk  to  Daniel  Meyer — 
as  soon  as  he  drops  all  his  Jewish  attributes  I'll  play  Shylock  straight." 

That  sounding  quite  conclusive  I  asked  him  why  he  didn't  go  on  the 
stage  as  a  professional  performer  receiving  compensation  for  his  efforts.  At 
Ye  Liberty,  you  know,  Mr.  Hotaling  is  not  on  the  payroll.  No  ghost  walks 
for  him. 

"If  I  received  any  compensation  for  what  I  did,  it  would  take  me  out 
of  my  class.  As  to  becoming  a  professional  actor — ."  He  considered  for 
a  moment. 

134 


RICHARD     HOTALING 


RICHARD     HOTALING 

"Well,  I  suppose  as  youngsters  we  have  all  thought  of  driving  the  great 
ones  into  continuous.  But  I'm  old.  I'm  forty-two.  Besides  I'm  both  lazy 
and  timid.  I'm  very  easily  disheartened.  Then  again,  I  take  so  much  joy  in 
other  things.  No  one  thing  is  so  very  important  to  me  that  I  want  to  strive 
for  it.  And  I  like  to  get  out  in  the  country.  I  love  to  be  alone  in  the  woods 
and  commune  with  the  pixies.  When  I'm  fussing  with  my  chickens  and 
my  pigeons  I  want  to  do  nothing  else.  The  fact  that  chickens  and  pigeons 
have  to  be  killed  for  food  disturbs  me ;  but  at  least  we  kill  them  quickly  and 
don't  let  them  breathe  out  their  poor  lives  in  the  pocket  of  a  hunting  coat. 

"I  suppose  if  some  of  the  fellows  at  the  Bohemian  Club  heard  me  talking 
like  this  they'd  say  I  was  posing.  Which  reminds  me,"  he  rattled  on,  "that 
after  a  recent  minstrel  show  at  the  Bohemian  Club  in  which  I  was  one  of  the 
end-men,  I  was  accused  of  being  vulgar.  I  admit  that  sometimes  I  approach 
near  the  realm  of  the  vulgar,  but  I  can  say  for  myself  that  I  have  never 
indulged  in  anything  indecent  that  wasn't  disinfected  by  a  certain  cleverness 
that  gave  it  raison  d'etre.  One  of  the  Bohemians  who  objected  most  to  my 
end-man  jokes  is  most  lascivious  in  his  private  life.  Personally,  I  am  willing 
to  admit  that  all  my  purity  is  in  my  private  life." 

It  all  came  very  suddenly.  Evidently  it  was  on  his  mind  and  had  to 
come  off.  But  I  switched  the  conversation  back  to  the  stage. 

"I  love  to  play  Hamlet,"  he  said.  "I  love  to  play  it  despite  the  fact  that 
I  have  seen  Forbes  Robertson  try  to  play  it.  Forbes  Robertson  is  a  very 
tiresome  person.  When  you  see  his  Hamlet  you  feel  that  it  should  have 
been  announced  beforehand  that  'the  Rev.  Doctor  Forbes  Robertson  on  next 
Sunday  night  will  give  a  reading  of  Shakespeare's  Hamlet  and  during  the 
reading  he  will  walk  up  and  down.'  " 

I  was  breathless  at  his  iconoclasm  and  to  convince  me  he  gave  an 
imitation  of  Forbes  Robertson's  Hamlet.  At  the  conclusion  he  threw  up  his 
hands  in  disgust. 

"Besides  all  that,"  he  said,  "Forbes  Robertson's  shoes  squeaked. 

"As  for  Bernhardt,"  he  continued,  "I  can't  see  her.  She's  a  very  dear 
old  soul,  of  course.  But  she  does  everything  from  the  throat." 

And  he  gave  me  an  imitation  of  Bernhardt. 

"I  am  sensitive  to  malicious  criticism  like  that  of  Acton  Davies,"  he  went 
on,  "but  I  like  sincere  criticism.  An  adverse  point  of  view  is  all  right,  but 
all  I  ask  is  that  if  the  critic  thinks  I'm  wrong  let  him  tell  me  the  reason  why. 

"I  like  my  role  in  'The  House  Next  Door.'  I  love  anything  that  will 
cause  an  audience  to  drop  a  sweet  tear.  I  like  the  part  of  the  bounder  in 
'Mr.  Hopkinson.'  After  that  I'm  to  play  Shylock.  Then  I'll  alternate  in 
Othello  and  lago.  After  that  I'd  like  to  alternate  in  Uncle  Tom  and  Little 
Eva;  then  play  Abigail  in  'The  County  Fair'  and  finish  with  Lear.  I'd  be 
content  then  to  go  back  to  the  country. 

"But,"  and  there  was  a  yearning  note  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke,  "I  would 
like  to  play  somewhere  else  than  in  Oakland." 


137 


JOHN  E.   HOYLE 


AILING  to  find  Charles  Edward  Russell,  sociologist,  though 
I  looked  for  him  in  many  places,  I  took  as  a  substitute  John 
Hoyle,  penologist,  and  we  talked  of  sociology,  penology  and 
kindred  topics.  I  had  just  been  reading  Charles  Edward 
Russell's  letter  to  Fremont  Older  wherein  the  somewhat 
maudlin  sociologist  inveighs  against  the  failure  of  civiliza- 
tion as  evidenced  by  its  imperfections  and  complains  that 
society  punishes  criminals  instead  of  devising  some  means 
of  punishing  itself.  According  to  Mr.  Russell,  prisons  are  "frightful  places" 
filled  with  "indescribable  horrors"  and  with  men  who  are  compelled  to 
undergo  torments  "because  of  the  common  fault  of  all  of  us,  because  we  have 
provided  conditions  under  which  it  is  impossible  for  them  to  do  anything 
else  but  break  our  laws,  because  they  have  been  brought  up  in  our  slums 
and  educated  in  our  streets  and  trained  to  evil  in  our  schools  of  crime,  and 
sent  forth  with  minds  darkened  and  embittered  with  that  poverty  that  we 
insist  upon  maintaining." 

Warden  Hoyle  had  read  this  letter  of  Russell's,  and  when  I  spoke  to  him 
about  it  he  smiled.  Warden  Hoyle  is  a  most  amiable  man,  bubbling  over 
with  good  nature.  It  is  as  natural  for  Warden  Hoyle  to  smile  as  it  is  natural 
for  Charles  Edward  Russell  to  darken  his  gloomy  visage  with  frowns.  All 
reformers  are  given  to  frowns,  they  are  all  so  solemn,  so  sour  and  so  sad. 
If  they  were  otherwise  they  would  not  be  reformers.  Getting  into  the 
presence  of  one  of  them  is  like  plunging  into  a  well  of  woe  and  extinguishing 
utterly  the  lamp  of  hope.  So,  after  all,  when  I  met  Warden  Hoyle  I  was 
glad  I  had  missed  Charles  Edward  Russell.  Hoyle  is  so  different.  A  light- 
hearted  man  is  the  warden,  with  the  average  human  share  of  imagination 
and  sympathy.  Something  of  a  philosopher,  too,  is  Hoyle,  not  at  all  averse 
to  ideals,  but  holding  that  they  are  to  be  striven  toward,  not  mourned  over. 
When  I  mentioned  the  dolorous  Russell  epistle  and  asked  the  warden  what 
he  thought  of  it,  he  said  it  seemed  hardly  worth  while  to  make  reply  to  such 
lugubrious  observations. 

"It  is  too  bad,"  he  remarked,  "that  such  nonsense  is  taken  seriously.  As 
absurd  as  it  is  it  does  some  harm.  It  makes  for  unrest  among  prisoners 
for  whom  we  are  trying  to  do  some  good." 

I  found  that  Warden  Hoyle  would  rather  talk  about  what  is  being  done 
toward  improving  our  prison  system  than  about  the  maunderings  of  doleful 
sociologists.  He  told  me  that  the  new  cell-house  at  San  Quentin  would  soon 
be  finished,  and  that  there  would  then  be  eight  hundred  more  individual  cells 
in  each  of  which  would  be  running  water  and  other  luxuries.  When  this 
building  is  finished  there  will  be  much  more  yard  space,  and  it  will  then 
be  possible  to  segregate  prisoners  and  grade  them,  and  give  the  good  ones 

138 


JOHN     E.     HOYLE 


JOHN     E.     HOYLE 

more  breathing  space,  more  recreation,  more  sunshine.  It  is  the  purpose 
of  the  prison  to  establish  three  grades  of  prisoners  in  the  first  of  which  men 
will  have  many  privileges  which  it  is  now  impossible  to  give  them.  By  this 
method  there  will  be  great  inducement  to  good  behaviour. 

"How  about  the  strait-jacket?"  I  asked.  "Mr.  Russell  mentions  that 
among  the  'horrors'  of  prison  life.  Is  that  one  of  the  essential  inducements 
to  good  behaviour?" 

The  warden  smiled.  "Have  you  ever  seen  a  man  in  a  strait- jacket?"  he 
asked. 

Yes,  I  had  seen  many.  When  I  was  a  police  reporter  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  strait-jacket.  There  were  two  or  three  strait-jackets  in 
the  city  emergency  hospital.  They  were  used  not  as  instruments  of  torture, 
but  for  the  protection  of  delirious  patients  against  themselves. 

"Well,"  said  the  warden,  "a  strait-jacket  may  be  made  very  uncomfort- 
able. It  all  depends  on  how  tight  it  is  strapped  on.  To  strap  it  on  in  a  way 
to  inflict  physical  pain  would  be  a  mighty  cruel  thing  to  do.  But  I  am  quite 
sure  there  is  nothing  like  barbarism  in  San  Quentin.  A  strait-jacket  isn't 
conclusive  of  torture.  As  a  matter  of  fact  its  principal  purpose  is  to  inspire 
fear,  and  when  you  have  nineteen  hundred  men  to  take  care  of,  the  most  of 
whom  are  far  from  gentle,  many  of  whom  are  inclined  to  be  disagreeable, 
you  will  generally  find  a  few  who  have  to  be  ruled  by  fear." 

I  asked  the  warden  if  it  was  hard  to  maintain  discipline  at  San  Quentin. 
He  said  it  was  not,  that  the  great  majority  of  prisoners  were  disposed  to  obey 
the  rules.  He  characterized  as  nonsense  the  idea  industriously  disseminated 
by  reformers  that  the  average  man  leaves  hope  behind  when  he  enters  the 
prison  walls.  The  prospect  of  parole,  he  told  me,  gladdened  the  heart  of 
the  average  convict.  He  is  very  enthusiastic  for  the  parole  system,  though, 
as  he  says,  it  causes  unrest  inasmuch  as  many  of  the  petitions  for  parole  are 
denied  owing  in  some  cases  to  the  failure  of  the  petitioners  to  get  the  required 
signatures.  He  believes,  however,  that  conditions  will  go  on  improving, 
and  that  we  are  rapidly  approaching  a  solution  of  one  of  the  most  perplexing 
of  all  the  problems  that  civilization  has  to  deal  with.  John  Hoyle  is  an 
optimist  of  the  first  order  and  also  a  man  of  tender  sensibilities  who  while 
scoffing  at  the  Utopian  absurdities  of  the  sentimental  sociologists  looks 
forward  to  a  very  satisfactory  adjustment  of  the  compromise  between  the 
ideal  and  the  practicable. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Hoyle,  "the  whole  aim  of  our  prison 
authorities  is  to  make  genuine  reformatories  out  of  our  penitentiaries,  and 
that  is  what  they  will  eventually  be.  The  State  has  purchased  land  near 
Napa  where  there  is  to  be  built  a  reformatory  for  prisoners  between  sixteen 
and  thirty  years  of  age.  When  we  get  that  great  strides  will  be  made  toward 
the  ideals  of  the  reformers.  We  shall  then  use  San  Quentin  for  prisoners  of 
the  second  class  and  Folsom  for  incorrigibles.  But  even  now  our  prison 
system  is  not  so  bad  as  sentimental  critics  would  have  the  people  believe. 
I  see  that  Mr.  Russell  says  that  men  become  criminals  because  we  have 
provided  conditions  which  make  it  impossible  for  men  to  do  anything  else 
but  break  the  laws.  If  this  were  so  our  parole  system  would  be  futile.  If 

141 


VARIED    TYPES 

all  that  he  says  were  true  it  would  be  a  very  fine  tribute  to  our  prisons. 
Unconsciously  he  has  praised  the  prisons.  He  says  that  criminals  are  men 
who  have  been  brought  up  in  the  slums  and  sent  forth  with  minds  darkened 
and  embittered.  If  that  be  so  then  the  penitentiary  system  must  tend  to 
enlighten  their  minds  and  soften  their  feelings,  for  when  we  let  them  out  on 
parole  very  few  come  back.  The  parole  system  is  a  great  success.  Not 
more  than  fifteen  per  cent  violate  their  parole,  and  the  violation  is  usually 
by  leaving  the  State.  Only  two  per  cent  of  paroled  criminals  are  again 
arrested  for  felonies.  This  being  so  how  can  it  be  said  that  conditions  make 
it  impossible  for  men  to  do  anything  else  but  break  the  laws?  If  ex-convicts 
can  get  along  without  breaking  the  laws,  I  should  think  that  other  men 
could  get  along  too."  And  Warden  Hoyle  smiled  as  he  made  his  points. 

I  asked  him  if  many  reformers  visited  San  Quentin.  He  said  that  women 
came  there  occasionally  who  took  an  interest  in  prisoners,  and  that  they 
were  quite  sincere  and  desirous  of  doing  good.  While  on  this  subject  the 
warden  told  me  a  story  by  way  of  answer  to  a  question  regarding  the 
personality  of  a  feminine  reformer  of  the  sloppy  sentimental  variety  and 
Charles  Edward  Russell  school  of  sociology. 

"You  want  to  know  what  she  is  like?"  he  asked.     I  nodded. 

"Well,  one  day  she  was  in  a  room  adjoining  my  office  talking  to  another 
woman.  She  remarked  that  it  would  be  dangerous  for  a  woman  to  go 
unprotected  through  the  prison.  A  convict  working  in  the  office  heard  her, 
and  he  muttered  audibly,  'She  could  go  through  in  her  night-shirt  without 
the  slightest  danger.'  " 

From  which  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  even  among  the  "crushed,  tormented 
and  tortured  souls"  behind  prison  walls  is  occasionally  to  be  found  a  man 
with  a  very  lively  wit. 

The  outbreak  that  occurred  in  San  Quentin  about  two  months  before,  I 
learned  from  Warden  Hoyle,  was  still  the  subject  of  investigation,  and  some 
important  information  had  been  obtained  regarding  the  inspiration  of  it, 
which,  in  the  course  of  time  would  become  public  property.  But  on  this 
subject  the  warden  was  somewhat  reticent.  All  that  he  would  say  was  that  it 
was  now  known  positively  that  there  were  twenty-five  conspirators  who 
started  the  revolt.  All  of  them  were  pretty  tough  characters.  Thirteen  of 
them  were  serving  time  for  robbery,  three  for  grand  larceny,  eight  for  bur- 
glary and  one  for  murder  and  all  were  in  the  jute  mill ;  not  one — and  this  the 
warden  regarded  as  significant — was  employed  in  any  of  the  factories  which 
supply  the  institutions  of  the  State  with  shoes,  clothes  and  furniture.  Im- 
mediately after  the  outbreak  an  effort  was  made  to  stir  up  sympathy  for  the 
prisoners.  It  was  said  they  had  many  grievances,  one  of  which  was  that  their 
food  was  unfit  to  eat.  It  is  now  known  that  no  such  grievance  existed.  The 
purpose  of  the  outbreak  was  to  occasion  criticism  of  the  prison  authorities. 

"In  time,"  said  Hoyle,  "we  shall  get  to  the  bottom  of  it." 

I  came  away  from  my  interview  with  Warden  Hoyle  with  the  very 
pleasant  impression  that  he  was  a  public  official  with  enthusiasm  for  his 
duties,  realizing  that  though  perfection  is  unattainable  we  ought  to  keep  an 
eye  on  the  compass  which  tells  us  where  it  lies. 

142 


JOHN  P.  IRISH 


E  WORE  no  necktie.  I  should  have  been  disappointed  if  he 
did,  disappointed  and  surprised.  But  in  the  circumstances 
it  was  far  from  surprising  that  he  wore  none.  For  the 
colonel  was  in  deshabille.  He  had  retired  when  I  called,  but 
graciously  consented  to  come  downstairs.  He  came,  aK 
imposing  figure.  From  throat  to  ankle  he  was  wrapped  in 
a  dressing  gown  colored  like  a  Navajo  blanket.  Above  this 
towered  the  big  head  of  him,  its  shock  of  white  hair  tousled 
by  the  contact  of  the  pillow,  the  gray  mustache  and  the  gray  tuft  below  the 
under  lip  bristling  in  anticipation  of  battle. 

'Twas  a  grouping  of  cosy  domesticity  in  the  living  room  of  the  Irish 
home  over  in  Adeline  street,  Oakland.  A  log  crackled  in  the  fireplace.  At 
a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  Mrs.  Irish,  a  charming  old  lady  of  smiles, 
her  handsome  auburn-haired  daughter  and  her  very  serious-faced  son-in- 
law,  put  their  heads  together  over  a  picture  puzzle.  The  biggest  and  most 
difficult  picture  puzzle  I  have  ever  seen.  Alma  Tadema's  "Spring,"  the 
daughter  told  me,  while  upstairs  the  colonel  was  swathing  himself  in  the 
Navajo  robe.  And  while  we  talked  the  piecing  of  the  puzzle  went  on  apace. 
Only  the  daughter  lifted  her  eyes  occasionally  from  the  game,  leaned  her 
elbows  on  the  arm  of  her  morris  chair,  clasped  her  chin  and  hung  on  the 
words  of  wisdom  dropping  from  her  father's  lips. 

Dropping,  though,  is  not  the  word.  Colonel  John  P.  Irish  doesn't  drop 
his  words.  They  flow  sonorously,  slowly,  without  a  riffle.  Every  word  has 
its  billet  and  rolls  smoothly  to  its  appointed  place.  If  ever  the  colonel  let  a 
word  go  astray  he  has  long  since  reclaimed  the  prodigal.  The  colonel's 
words  have  sowed  many  things,  dissension  for  instance,  but  never  a  wild 
oat.  They  are  biddable  and  they  know  their  place. 

"Colonel,  what  do  you  think  of  our  recent  changes  in  government?" 

I  needed  say  no  more.  Thenceforward  mine  the  role  of  listener.  The 
only  interruptions  for  many  minutes  came  from  the  table.  A  purr  of 
satisfaction  when  a  piece  fitted  into  the  picture;  a  low  phsaw!  when  a  piece 
proved  refractory;  an  occasional  word  from  the  daughter.  For  the  rest,  the 
group  at  the  table  built  up  their  picture  of  "Spring;"  the  colonel  tore  down 
the  structure  erected  at  the  constitutional  election  of  1911 ;  and  I  listened. 

"I  suppose  I'm  an  old  fogy  now,"  began  the  colonel  crossing  one  slippered 
foot  over  the  other  and  tightening  the  cincture  of  his  Navajo  robe.  A  soft 
murmur  of  incredulity  from  the  table;  a  smile  of  the  same  from  me.  And 
the  colonel  straightway  put  levity  behind  him. 

"These  changes  go  profoundly  to  the  structure  of  government,"  he 
continued. 

"The  Greek  democracies  were  direct  government  by  the  people.     There 

143 


VARIED    TYPES 

were  no  intermediaries.  And  the  Greek  democracies  were  failures.  They 
terminated  in  tyranny.  All  the  Greek  writers  on  government  concluded  from 
that  experience  that  direct  government  becomes  finally  an  ochlocracy  (the 
colonel  spelled  it  for  me)  or  government  by  the  mob.  In  this  judgment  the 
Roman  writers  on  civics  concurred,  as  have  Mill  and  all  the  modern  writers 
on  government.  This  for  the  reason  that  all  the  people  will  not  go  to  the 
polls  and  vote  or  otherwise  participate  in  government  when  the  questions  to 
be  decided  are  abstractions  or  questions  of  principle. 

"Our  fathers  who  made  the  government,  founding  its  institutions  in  the 
federal  constitution,  were  aware  of  this  inherent  tendency  of  human  nature. 
They  were  informed  by  all  history  that  only  the  fanatical  or  the  misled 
minority  will  express  themselves  upon  abstract  questions  of  government. 
Therefore  they  introduced  into  our  government  the  principle  of  human 
interest  by  making  it  representative  in  character. 

"Now,  addressing  ourselves  to  the  latest  example.  The  recent  election 
gives  to  the  people  the  most  important  referendum  in  the  history  of  the 
State.  The  constitutional  amendments  raised  the  most  important  abstract 
questions  of  government.  It  was  entirely  revolutionary.  It  changed  our 
government  from  the  representative  to  the  direct  form.  It  was  a  political 
atavism,  a  recurrence  to  a  former  and  lower  type  of  government. 

"Yet,  out  of  the  six  hundred  thousand  registered  voters  of  this  State 
only  one-third  voted  upon  these  abstract  questions  which  affected  an 
appalling  change  in  our  form  of  government.  Of  this  one-third  an  average 
of  twenty-eight  per  cent  of  the  entire  registered  vote  of  the  State  effected 
this  change  in  our  form  of  government. 

"Had  that  election  been  for  representatives  in  Congress  or  the  Legis- 
lature, ninety  per  cent  of  the  entire  vote  would  have  been  cast.  This  proves 
the  wisdom  of  our  fathers  in  recognizing  that  the  people  will  show  a  vital 
interest  in  representative  institutions  while  they  will  not  concern  themselves 
with  direct  government. 

"We  have  changed  the  electoral  basis  of  California  by  adopting  Woman 
Suffrage  and  have  reversed  our  institutions  by  a  minority  vote  of  the  State. 
By  this  act  we  have  added  vastly  to  the  power  of  Socialism  and  other  forces 
of  disorder  which  concern  themselves  with  the  destruction  of  existing 
institutions.  We  have  made  the  rights  of  person  and  property  less  safe  than 
before.  We  have  disturbed  or  abolished  the  certainty  of  constitutional 
guaranties.  And  we  have  introduced  a  system  of  factious  instability  which 
renders  those  rights  less  safe  than  anywhere  else  in  the  world." 

The  building  of  "Spring"  went  steadily  on,  but  there  was  a  murmur  of 
applause.  The  colonel  who  is  used  to  applause  gave  no  heed. 

"What  the  result  will  be  no  man  can  foresee.  Some  of  the  authors  and 
advocates  of  these  menacing  changes  are  endeavoring  to  reassure  those  who 
value  stability  and  the  rights  of  person  and  property  by  saying  that  the 
power  to  destroy  both  will  probably  not  be  used." 

From  the  picture  puzzlers  a  whisper  of  mocking  thanks  to  the  aforesaid 
authors  and  advocates. 

"But  the  fathers  who  created  our  institutions   did    not   leave    that  de- 

144 


JOHN    P.     IRISH 


JOHN     P.     IRISH 

structive  power  to  the  fickle  will  of  the  minority.  Therefore  they  devised 
our  system  of  written  constitutions  in  which  those  invaluable  rights  were 
placed  beyond  the  reach  of  the  storms  and  tempests  of  a  public  opinion 
incited  by  demagogues  and  agitators. 

"As  far  as  Woman  Suffrage  is  concerned,  it  was  adopted  against  the 
protests  of  eight-tenths  of  the  women  of  California." 

"Prove  it !"  came  from  the  table  in  playful  insurgency. 

"It  was  adopted  at  the  behest  of  an  uneasy,  chattering  and  brainless 
minority  of  the  women  of  the  State  who  have  neither  the  natural  sense  nor 
the  natural  graces  to  appreciate  or  enjoy  the  majestic  position  of  their  sex 
nor  its  sphere  of  influence  for  every  good  and  high  purpose  with  which 
nature  has  endowed  it.  Having  none  of  the  gifts  and  graces  which  make  that 
natural  influence  the  greatest  moral  and  intellectual  influence  in  the  world, 
they  have  been  moved  to  step  down  and  compete  with  man  in  the  ordinary 
political  channels. 

"As  a  rule  they  are  women  who  place  no  value  on  the  home,  who 
despise  domestic  life,  who  have  already  shunned  their  natural  responsibilities 
and  who  have  nothing  to  offer  for  the  moral  and  intellectual  advancement 
of  society.  To  say  that  this  class  of  women  can  bring  into  politics  any 
refining  influence,  into  law  any  betterment,  into  the  world  any  new  or 
progressive  element,  is  to  talk  nonsense  of  a  very  poor  quality." 

The  daughter  of  Colonel  Irish  had  forgotten  the  picture  puzzle,  and  at 
this  peroration  she  clapped  her  hands  softly  but  with  emphasis.  The 
interruption  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  break  my  silence  with  a  question. 

"I  don't  think  California  will  be  content  to  remain  long  as  a  freak  State," 
the  colonel  answered.  "Woman  Suffrage  was  carried  by  3,500 — and  by 
inadvertence.  I  believe  that  on  a  second  vote  it  will  be  beaten  by  a  majority 
of  100,000." 

The  colonel  is  prepared  at  the  proper  time  to  aid  in  the  excision  of 
woman  suffrage  from  the  constitution. 

"The  movement  in  that  direction,"  he  said,  "is  serious  and  well 
organized." 

"Pity  it  wasn't  so  before,"  said  the  colonel's  daughter  who  was  herself 
active  in  the  first  campaign. 

"The  true  women  of  California  are  in  this  movement,"  said  the  colonel. 
"They  are  likely  to  become  the  saviors  of  the  State." 

Thenceforward  the  discussion  was  desultory.  We  talked  of  the 
memorable  debate  on  Woman  Suffrage  at  the  Valencia  Theatre,  and  I  was 
assured  that  Dr.  Aked  led  the  hissing  of  the  colonel  on  that  occasion.  We 
talked  of  Plato  and  his  ideal  republic.  We  discussed  the  extraordinary 
feminist  program  that  had  just  been  outlined  by  Mrs.  Catt  and  Miss  Shaw. 

"Woman  Suffrage  is  not  promotion  but  demotion,"  concluded  the  colonel. 

Alma  Tadema's  "Spring"  was  slowly  emerging  from  the  helter  of 
puzzle  pieces.  The  colonel  folded  his  Navajo  draperies  about  him  and  went 
back  to  bed. 


147 


GROVE  L.    JOHNSON 


LOOD  IS  THICKER  than  water,  if  we  may  believe  what 
aphorists  of  the  bromidic  school  tell  us.  Maybe  that's  why 
it  has  a  way  of  coagulating  and  becoming  bad  blood.  In 
the  history  of  families  in  these  parts  we  have  many 
instances  of  this  trouble-breeding  coagulation.  A  notable 
one  is  found  in  the  Johnson  family.  Everybody  in  California 
knows  that  Grove  L.  Johnson  is  not  on  friendly  terms  with 
his  son  the  Governor.  How  the  bad  blood  started  is  neither 
here  nor  there;  the  public  was  made  familiar  with  the  situation  when  old 
Grove  put  his  harness  on  his  back  and  went  forth  to  smite  his  son  Hiram  in 
the  region  of  his  gubernatorial  aspirations.  A  very  nifty  smiter  is  old  Grove, 
but  in  that  instance  he  smote  in  vain.  Not  so  Hiram  when  he  began  to  smite 
back.  He  fought  his  father's  re-election  to  the  Assembly  during  the  campaign 
of  1912,  the  result  being  that  Grove  was  soon  in  a  position  to  devote  all  his 
time  to  a  lucrative  law  practice. 

"I  was  a  thorn  in  my  son's  side,"  says  Grove.  "He  wanted  me  out  of 
politics  and  he  got  me  out." 

This  is  about  as  far  as  Grove  goes  in  discussing  the  Governor  for 
publication.  Which  is  as  it  should  be,  of  course.  But  Grove  discusses  the 
State  administration  quite  frankly,  and  as  the  State  administration  is  Governor 
Johnson  and  little  more,  the  uncomplimentary  things  he  says  about  it  have 
a  very  personal  application  to  Hiram. 

A  very  young  man  is  Grove  L.  His  seventy-two  years  of  tumultuous 
activity  in  law  and  politics  have  left  him  almost  unscarred  of  time.  His  hair 
is  gray  but  plentiful,  and  he  parts  it  with  the  care  of  a  young  beau.  His 
whiskers,  perhaps  the  best  known  whiskers  in  California  today,  are  'snowy 
white  but  they  are  very  far  indeed  from  being  the  symbol  of  mental  or 
physical  decrepitude.  They  jut  jauntily  over  his  boiled  white  shirt  and 
nestle  cosily  against  his  collar  with  no  necktie  to  distract  attention  from  them. 
Grove  L.  rarely  wears  a  necktie,  a  distinction  which  he  shared  with  John 
P.  Irish  until  the  Democrats  returned  to  power  and  released  our  former 
Naval  Officer  from  a  sixteen-year-old  election  bet.  Only  a  few  wrinkles 
have  appeared  in  Grove  L.'s  smooth  white  skin,  and  they  radiate  from  his 
keen  eyes,  the  wrinkles  of  a  close,  appraising  vision  rather  than  of  age.  There 
is  always  a  white  flower  in  the  lapel  of  his  carefully  brushed  black  coat ;  and 
his  boots — for,  like  George  Knight  and  Henry  Gage,  he  wears  the  boots  of  a 
past  age — shine  with  a  fleckless  burnish.  In  fact  old  Grove  looks  as  Father 
Time  might  look  if  he  dropped  his  scythe  and  glass  and  had  himself  tailored 
for  rakish  conquest. 

Listening  to  old  Grove  L.  as  he  sits  in  his  Sacramento  law  office  and 
talks  in  that  high-pitched  voice  of  his,  you  think  of  his  years  not  as  an 

148 


GROVE    L.    JOHNSON 


GROVE    L.    JOHNSON 

encumbrance  but  merely  as  the  messengers  that  have  brought  him  experience. 
Varied  indeed  is  the  experience  that  has  come  to  him  as  his  seventy-two 
twelve-months  of  mortal  coil  unwound  themselves.  No  man  in  California 
politics  has  been  more  lampooned  and  attacked;  no  man  has  dealt  more 
swinging  blows  against  political  adversaries.  His  political  era  has  passed,  as 
he  cheerfully  admits.  After  November,  1912,  the  party  he  belongs  to  was 
disorganized,  its  old  leaders  discredited.  But  you  didn't  catch  him  saying 
that  the  change  was  for  the  best. 

"We  are  worse  off  than  ever,"  he  told  me.  "We  have  no  party  left  but 
the  Democratic  and  that  is  rent  with  dissensions.  The  Republican  party  is 
like  the  old  farmer's  horse;  it  didn't  die,  it  just  'gin  out.'  The  Bull  Moosers 
in  the  present  Legislature  call  themselves  Republicans,  but  we  don't  recognize 
them.  There  is  really  no  Republican  party  left  in  California.  It  has  no 
State  committee  and  only  a  few  scattering  County  committees.  The  outcome 
will  depend  on  Congress.  If  the  Democrats  in  Congress  make  good  the 
people  will  be  satisfied  to  let  conditions  continue  as  they  are.  Of  course  the 
Republican  party  will  be  reorganized  in  time.  It  has  its  distinct  principles, 
and  as  long  as  the  tariff  remains  the  main  issue  of  politics  there  will  be  need 
of  the  Republican  party.  But  it  will  not  be  reorganized  by  letting  Roosevelt 
and  the  Bull  Moose  gang  control  it.  Nor  will  it  be  reorganized  by  the  old 
leaders.  I  have  confidence  in  the  honesty  and  loyalty  of  Cannon  and  the 
rest,  but  the  people  don't  share  rny  faith.  New  leaders  like  Hadley,  Borah, 
Cummins  and  Job  Hedges  will  be  necessary. 

"The  Bull  Moose  party,  like  every  other  party  founded  on  malice  and 
hate,  will  disintegrate,  die  and  go  to  Hell  where  it  belongs.  That  is  bad 
language,  but  I  get  mad  whenever  I  think  of  the  Bull  Moose.  It  is  dying 
now.  There  is  no  more  fight  in  it.  It  may  make  sporadic  attacks  like  the 
Mexican  rebels,  but  its  only  cohesive  power  is  public  plunder  and  as  a  national 
factor  it's  gone. 

"It  is  strong  in  California  for  two  reasons:  the  personality  of  my  son 
who  worked  it  up  strong,  and  the  unpopularity  of  the  old  regime.  It  came 
at  a  time  when  the  old  regime  was  drunk  with  power.  Now  it  is  drunk  with 
power  in  its  turn. 

"It  claims  that  it  has  made  reforms  in  California,  but  its  reform  claims 
are  as  baseless  as  the  fabric  of  a  drunken  man's  dream.  It  has  done  nothing 
except  raise  taxes,  increase  the  number  of  officeholders  and  concentrate  power 
in  the  hands  of  the  Governor.  I  don't  consider  the  initiative,  the  referendum 
and  the  recall  reforms.  The  eight-hour  law  for  women  was  a  Democratic 
measure,  though  the  Bull  Moosers  claim  it.  If  anybody  in  the  State  can 
point  to  anything  else  they  have  accomplished  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to 
hear  it.  They  boast  about  freeing  the  State  from  S.  P.  domination.  Well, 
you  have  read  Aesop  and  you  remember  King  Log  and  King  Stork.  We're 
in  that  condition.  The  Bull  Moosers  are  animated  by  the  desire  to  get  power, 
and  they  use  their  power  to  put  their  friends  in  office.  Why,  in  this 
Legislature  there  are  bills  providing  for  seven  new  commissions  to  be 
appointed  by  the  Governor. 

"I  expect  to  see  the  Governor's  machine  go  to  pieces  next  year.    No  one 

151 


VARIED    TYPES 

can  succeed  in  politics  who  builds  up  his  power  without  recognizing  the 
power  of  the  other  fellow." 

Grove  L.  Johnson  served  six  terms  in  the  Assembly  and  one  in  the  State 
Senate.  He  says  the  best  session  of  his  time  was  when  Arthur  Fisk  was 
Speaker  of  the  Assembly  because  "we  all  pulled  together  and  everybody  had 
a  good  time.".  But  he  admits  that  the  men  he  served  with  in  the  Legislature 
were  not  great  men;  that  there  was  no  great  wit  or  humorist;  no  great 
orator,  "though  a  lot  of  them  thought  they  were  great ;"  no  man  whose  name 
stands  out  from  the  rest. 

I  asked  whether,  if  he  had  his  life  to  live  over,  he'd  go  into  politics. 

"Yes,"  he  said  with  decision.  "Because  I've  enjoyed  politics.  It  was  a 
relaxation.  The  law  is  a  jealous  mistress,  and  a  lawyer  needs  change.  I 
found  it  in  the  Legislature.  When  the  session  began  I  locked  the  door  of  my 
law  office.  When  the  session  ended  I  came  back  thoroughly  refreshed.  And 
I'm  proud  of  my  record.  They  used  to  charge  me  with  being  friendly  with 
the  S.  P.  Why,  any  man  who  did  politics  in  Sacramento  and  wasn't  friendly 
with  the  S.  P.  was  an  ass." 

He's  out  of  politics  to  stay  out,  he  says.  He's  going  to  do  a  little  work 
and  a  lot  of  playing  from  now  on.  When  we  had  this  talk  he  was  about  to 
start  with  his  wife  on  the  European  tour,  to  be  gone  two  years  or  so.  He  has 
acquired  a  passion  for  travel,  and  is  more  excited  when  he  talks  about  Europe 
than  when  he  lambastes  his  son's  administration. 

"Last  time  I  was  abroad  I  spent  five  weeks  in  Rome.  This  time  I'm 
going  to  spend  five  months.  Do  you  know,  there  are  407  Catholic  churches 
in  Rome  and  everyone  has  something,  a  picture,  a  statue,  an  altar  or  a 
Bambino  worth  seeing.  I'm  going  to  see  them  all." 

He  raves  about  St.  Peter's.  He  can  tell  you  the  diameter  of  the  great 
pillars  that  support  the  dome.  He  climbed  and  counted  the  steps  of  the 
Coliseum.  He  spent  three  hours  before  a  tomb  designed  by  Raphael.  He 
wants  to  kneel  once  more  and  receive  the  Pope's  blessing.  He  has  a  great 
admiration  for  the  late  Pope  Pius. 

"Why,  do  you  know,"  he  said  with  excitement,  "if  that  man  was  drawn 
for  jury  duty  I'd  take  him  on  his  looks  alone,  and  no  questions  asked !" 

The  criminal  lawyer's  supreme  tribute  to  goodness ! 

"When  you  were  at  school,  you  recited  'Horatius  at  the  Bridge,'  "  he 
continued.  "I  found  the  bridge!  You  recited  'Rienzi.'  I  found  his  statue! 

"I  want  to  saturate  myself  with  Rome.  I'm  going  to  St.  Peter's  every 
day.  I'm  going  to  spend  a  month  in  Florence  too." 

And  he'll  go  to  Scotland  to  follow  the  footsteps  of  his  beloved  Scott  and 
visit  the  scenes  of  the  Waverley  Novels. 

"You  remember  the  Porteous  riot  in  'The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian'?  I  went 
to  the  Tolbooth  in  Edinburgh,  and  I  was  surprised.  Why,  with  a  dozen 
good  men  I'm  sure  I  could  hold  it  against  the  mob !" 

I  give  these  random  remarks  on  travel,  disjointed  bits  of  a  long  and 
interesting  conversation,  because  they  show  a  side  of  old  Grove  L.  of  which 
the  public  knows  nothing. 

"Travel  is  better  than  politics,"  he  said,  and  he  ought  to  know. 

152 


fJOHN  M.  KEITH 


'URING  the  preceding  two  weeks  the  late  John  M.  Keith  had 
1  received  two  proposals  of  marriage.  I  submit  that  that  is  a 
very  good  record.  A  great  many  of  u»  have  never  received  a 
single  proposal  of  marriage  in  the  course  of  a  lifetime,  and 
John  M.  Keith  got  a  brace  of  them  in  a  fortnight !  John  M. 
Keith  was  a  millionaire,  'tis  true.  That  sets  his  case  apart. 
But  while  those  of  us  who  go  through  life  unproposed  to 
are  not  millionaires,  we  are  perhaps  of  a  more  marriageable 
age  than  John  M.  Keith.  What  we  lack  in  wealth  we  make  up  in  nubility. 
This  may  be  said  without  any  suspicion  of  discredit  to  John  M.  Keith,  for  he 
was  in  his  eighty-second  year. 

It  is  unusual,  I  take  it,  for  gentlemen  of  octogenarian  dignity  to  be 
proposed  to,  even  when  they  are  millionaires.  Their  venerable  years  save 
them  from  that  trying  ordeal.  But  special  occasions  come,  as  in  the  case 
of  John  M.  Keith.  It  would  be  wrong  to  drag  romance  into  the  matter.  I 
am  afraid  there  was  very  little  sentiment  attached  to  the  two  proposals  which 
startled  John  M.  Keith  out  of  his  ordinary  composure.  The  ladies  who  sued 
for  his  hand  were  actuated  by  passion,  but  it  was  the  passion  of  acquisitive- 
ness ;  they  were  in  love,  but  their  love  was  for  John  M.  Keith's  bank  account. 
About  two  weeks  before  announcement  had  been  made  in  the  news- 
papers that  John  M.  Keith  had  contributed  $150,000  for  the  erection  of  a 
University  of  California  Hospital  on  Parnassus  Heights.  This  magnificent 
hospital  is  to  cost  $600,000,  so  it  will  be  noted  that  John  M.  Keith  gave  just 
one-fourth  of  the  total  amount.  The  rest  was  contributed  by  the  Crockers. 

I  do  not  know  whether  Will  Crocker  or  Templeton  Crocker  received 
any  proposals  of  marriage  upon  the  heels  of  that  announcement.  As  they 
are  married  already,  it  is  quite  likely  that  the  proposing  females  of  the 
species  refrained  from  tenders  which  could  only  be  regarded  as  polygamous. 
But  John  M.  Keith  was  a  widower.  In  some  way  or  other  two  single  ladies 
found  that  out,  and  kindly  offered  to  wive  him.  John  M.  Keith  gave  them 
absolutely  no  encouragement.  In  fact,  he  did  not  even  answer  their  coy 
epistles.  They  must  have  thought  him  a  horrid  man. 

That  newspaper  announcement  of  John  M.  Keith's  gift  brought  him  many 
other  letters  beside  the  two  containing  matrimonial  offers.  He  was  pestered 
with  begging  letters.  People  who  made  it  quite  clear  that  they  were  both 
needy  and  deserving  petitioned  him  for  sums  ranging  from  fifty  to  a  thousand 
dollars.  This  writer  wanted  to  start  in  business;  that  one  wanted  to  send 
a  son  to  college;  the  other  must  lift  the  mortgage  from  the  old  home,  and 
would  Mr.  Keith  oblige  with  a  check  by  return  mail?  Truth  to  say,  John 
M.  Keith  had  a  heavy  mail  during  those  two  weeks ! 

"I'd  rather  give  a  thousand  dollars  to  a  deserving  person  who  didn't  ask 


153 


VARIED    TYPES 

for  it  than  ten  cents  to  a  person  who  begged,"  said  John  M.  Keith,  so  it  will 
be  seen  that  there  was  no  more  hope  for  the  writers  who  wanted  money  than 
for  the  writers  who  offered  marriage. 

One  woman,  however,  was  successful.  She  did  not  write;  she  came  to 
beg  in  person,  and  got  an  audience  by  stratagem.  Giving  the  name  of  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Keith  at  the  desk  of  the  St.  Francis  where  Mr.  Keith  lived  she 
was  permitted  to  go  upstairs  to  his  apartments.  She  had  her  daughter  with 
her,  a  nice  looking  girl  of  about  eighteen.  She  explained  to  Mr.  Keith  that 
her  daughter  was  engaged  to  be  married  but  had  no  money  for  a  trousseau. 
Would  Mr.  Keith  kindly  arrange  that  little  difficulty?  That  is  the  substance 
of  the  story  she  told  with  a  wealth  of  detail  and  with  loads  of  pathos. 

"I  didn't  know  how  to  get  rid  of  her,"  said  Mr.  Keith ;  "but  in  desperation 
I  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket  and  took  out  twenty  dollars.  She  took  it 
greedily." 

"Did  she  thank  you  ?"  I  asked. 

"She  asked  me  if  I  couldn't  make  it  thirty." 

Although  John  M.  Keith  came  to  this  city  at  a  youthful  age,  he  was  not 
what  you  would  call  a  well  known  man  here.  Bankers  and  brokers  knew 
him,  oil  men  knew  him,  and  in  the  select  circle  of  his  social  intimates  he 
was  dearly  beloved.  But  many  men  who  pride  themselves  on  their  wide 
acquaintance  with  local  celebrities  would  pass  him  by  without  recognizing 
him.  One  reason  is  that  John  M.  Keith  lived  a  very  quiet  life  among  his 
books  and  pictures.  Another  is  that  the  greater  part  of  his  career  was 
passed  outside  San  Francisco. 

Born  in  Gainesville,  Georgia,  in  1832  John  Mi.  Keith  came  to  San 
Francisco  to  seek  his  fortune  during  the  gold  excitement.  A  boy  of  enter- 
prise, eager  and  ambitious,  he  headed  for  the  "diggings"  of  the  Bret  Harte 
country  and  for  four  years  engaged  in  placer  mining  with  varying  luck. 

"I  made  some  money,"  he  told  me,  "and  although  I  was  never  very 
dissipated  I  spent  it  as  fast  as  I  made  it." 

Like  many  of  those  pioneer  miners  John  M.  Keith  finally  gave  up  hope 
of  wresting  a  fortune  from  Mother  Earth.  He  went  into  the  lumber  business 
in  Calaveras  county.  He  took  a  hand  in  politics  too,  not  seeking  office  but 
helping  his  friends.  From  the  way  in  which  he  spoke  of  Governors  Weller, 
Latham  and  Downey  and  Senator  Gwin  it  was  evident  that  these  were 
among  the  men  for  whom  he  strove  in  those  stormy  old  days. 

Marriage  in  1873  brought  a  keen  sense  of  responsibility  to  John  M.  Keith, 
and  he  became  a  farmer,  first  in  Gilroy  and  later  in  Kern  county.  He  worked 
hard  and  was  successful.  But  it  is  doubtful  if  farming  alone  would  have 
brought  John  M.  Keith  to  the  pleasant  position  where  he  could  contribute 
$150,000  to  a  hospital  fund  and  never  miss  the  money.  It  was  oil  that  did 
that. 

As  agent  for  the  Union  Oil  Company  John  M.  Keith  came  to  know  a 
great  deal  about  asphalt  which  was  the  only  thing  the  Union  Oil  Company 
expected  to  find  in  Kern  county.  But  by  degrees  he  also  came  to  know  a 
good  deal  about  oil. 

"Did  you  ever  see  mosquitoes  popping  out  of  the  water?"  Mr.  Keith 

154 


JOHN    M.    KEITH 


JOHN     M.    KEITH 

asked  me.  ''Well,  that's  the  way  the  oil  used  to  pop  out  along  the  banks 
of  the  Kern  River.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  there  was  lots  of  oil  there,  and 
I  figured  out  the  best  place  to  drill  for  it." 

With  J.  J.  Mack  John  M.  Keith  bought  five  and  one-half  sections  of 
land,  paying  two  dollars  and  a  half  an  acre  for  it.  Then  he  drilled  the  first 
oil  well  in  the  Kern  River  country.  That  was  the  beginning  of  the  famous 
"Thirty  Three"  which  started  John  M.  Keith  on  the  road  to  millions.  Those 
original  holdings  have  since  been  sold  to  an  English  syndicate  for  two  and 
one-half  million  dollars. 

John  M.  Ke,ith  was  a  big  factor  in  the  oil  industry  of  California  ever 
afterwards.  At  the  time  of  his  death  he  had  holdings  in  Coalinga,  West 
Side,  Maricopa,  Midway  and  Lost  Hills  as  well  as  in  the  country  where  he 
first  watched  the  oil  spurting  out  of  the  water  along  the  river  banks. 

He  was  a  successful  man,  and  he  pointed  the  same  moral  that  so  many 
other  successful  men  like  to  insist  upon. 

"My  success,"  he  said,  "came  from  hard  work.  As  far  as  I  have  ever 
been  able  to  see,  that's  the  only  way." 

It  is  easy  to  understand  how  such  a  man  regards  the  begging  letter 
writer.  Of  all  the  short  cuts  to  wealth,  the  begging  letter  is  the  shortest 
and  most  ineffectual  as  well  as  the  meanest. 

The  greedy  demands  of  the  unworthy  make  some  rich  men  knot  their 
purse  strings.  It  was  otherwise  with  John  M.  Keith.  He  was  a  truly 
charitable  man,  and  his  charities  were  not  marred  by  ostentation.  That  gift 
to  the  University  Hospital  fund  was  the  only  instance  of  his  beneficence 
proclaimed  in  the  public  prints.  And  the  reason  justifies  the  announcement 
of  the  gift. 

"I  gave  that  in  memory  of  my  wife,"  said  John  M.  Keith.  "If  she  were 
alive  she  would  like  me  to  give  it." 

As  he  said  this  John  M.  Keith's  eyes  rested  affectionately  on  the  portrait 
of  his  wife  which  adorned  his  sitting  room.  I  could  imagine  him  looking 
at  that  picture  when  the  mail  brought  him  a  proposal  of  marriage. 


157 


GEORGE  A.  KNIGHT 


'   I   ' 

A 


AKE  two  men  out  of  the  Progressive  party  in  California,  and 
there  would  be  no  Progressive  party." 

Thus  George  Knight,  talking  politics,  his  favorite  sub- 
ject, in  the  winter  of  1913.  It  is  interesting,  in  view  of  what 
has  happened  since,  to  recall  his  words. 

For  years  George  Knight  has  been  immersed  in  politics, 
State  and  national.  Time  and  again  he  has  stumped  Cali- 
fornia for  Republican  governors  and  the  United  States  for 
Republican  presidents.  He  is  the  only  man  we  have  in  California  who 
has  made  his  influence  felt  in  the  councils  of  the  G.  O.  P.  and  his  voice  heard 
throughout  its  largest  convention  halls.  He  has  enjoyed  the  confidence  of 
Garfield,  McKinley,  Mark  Hanna  and  other  big  men.  He  has  seconded  the 
nomination  of  presidents  and  has  spoken  side  by  side  with  them  on  memor- 
able occasions.  And  he's  a  hard-hitting,  uncompromising  fighter  who  never 
had  to  rap  more  than  twice  to  hold  an  unruly  convention  in  line.  He  is  not 
active  in  politics  just  now,  but  he  loves  to  talk  politics  just  the  same. 
I  asked  Knight  who  were  the  two  men  he  referred  to. 
"Governor  Johnson  and  Railroad  Commissioner  Eshleman,"  he  replied. 
"The  Progressive  party  is  a  party  of  individuals,  and  in  California  two  in- 
dividuals are  the  party.  The  rest  don't  count. 

"Frank  Heney  doesn't  figure.  If  the  same  proportion  of  people  indorse 
him  throughout  the  State  as  indorsed  him  in  San  Francisco  after  the 
triumphal  march  of  his  graft  prosecution,  he'll  be  an  algebraic  minus.  I  don't 
believe  he  can  be  elected  to  any  office  in  California.  I  judge  from  what 
people  say  and  from  his  attempt  on  the  district  attorneyship.  Dry  rot 
attacks  all  those  he  gets  behind.  Fickert  beat  Ralph  Hathorn  for  district 
attorney  because  Heney  sent  Hathorn  a  telegram  of  indorsement.  Heney 
has  the  habit  of  office-seeking.  First  he  was  a  Democrat;  then  a  Lincoln- 
Roosevelt  Republican ;  now  he's  a  Progressive.  He  is  a  self-appointed  can- 
didate; he's  his  own  convention  and  nominating  committee.  And  he's  willing 
to  take  what's  left.  Money  won't  help  Heney  much.  It  only  helps  the  man 
who  is  not  handicapped  in  other  ways. 

"Rowell  doesn't  figure  either.  If  you  applied  the  eugenic  rule  to  him  in 
politics  he  wouldn't  exist.  And  Rudolph  Spreckels  is  never  heard  from 
except  when  his  self-interest  is  concerned.  He  didn't  enter  public  life  till 
he  wanted  something  and  found  he  couldn't  get  it. 

"Governor  Johnson  is  able  and  aggressive.  Like  a  surgeon  he's  not 
afraid  of  blood  when  he  cuts.  He  will  be  a  strong  candidate  for  Governor 
or  Senator.  From  his  viewpoint  his  administration  has  been  a  success  be- 
cause it  has  done  what  he  promised.  But  it  has  not  been  good  for  the  State, 
and  I  don't  think  the  State  will  stand  very  long  for  some  of  the  measures  he 

158 


GEORGE    A.    KNIGHT 


GEORGE    A.     KNIGHT 

has  given  it.  Governor  Johnson  has  been  extravagant,  but  from  the  viewpoint 
of  mere  politics  that  is  to  be  commended.  He  has  taken  care  of  his  political 
friends  at  the  expense  of  the  treasury,  and  hasn't  sought  to  placate  his 
enemies. 

"As  for  Eshleman,  the  general  repute  of  the  Railroad  Commission  over 
which  he  presides  is  that  its  rulings  have  been  fair,  able  and  equitable.  No 
corporation  has  a  sound  complaint  to  make  against  it.  It  is  as  strong  a 
tribunal  as  the  Supreme  Court.  Whether  Eshleman's  popularity  as  a  Railroad 
Commissioner  would  be  enough  to  land  him  in  the  governorship  is  a  problem. 
We  don't  know  yet  who  his  opponent  will  be.  And  there  may  be  internal 
hemorrhages  in  his  own  party. 

"The  trouble  with  the  Progressive  party  is  that  it  is  a  party  of  negation. 
It  fights  for  nothing  tangible  as  the  old  parties  do.  The  Progressives  tell  us 
that  certain  things  exist  which  ought  not  to  exist,  and  we  all  admit  that.  You 
can't  run  a  party  on  a  policy  of  negation  any  more  than  you  can  run  a  bank 
that  way.  And  you  can't  build  a  party  on  an  individual,  whether  it  be  Roose- 
velt or  Johnson. 

"We  hear  much  from  these  Progressives  about  friendly  contests.  There 
are  no  friendly  contests  in  politics.  I've  seen  two  hypocrites  attempt  it,  and 
all  went  well  till  one  of  them  got  mad.  Hypocrites  in  the  Progressive  party? 
Well,  it  is  hard  to  distinguish  between  sincere  conversion  to  a  cause  and 
hypocrisy.  But  when  one  man  thinks  he's  closer  to  the  spring  of  purity  than 
his  neighbor  he  is  either  a  hypocrite  or  an  egotist.  You  know,  a  man  may 
become  so  imbued  with  egotism  that  he  will  do  wrong  with  a  good  conscience ; 
and  to  the  spectator  he  looks  like  a  hypocrite." 

Then  Knight  talked  in  a  more  general  way.  He  doesn't  think  President 
Wilson  will  be  renominated,  let  alone  re-elected.  "His  early  training,"  he 
says,  "prevents  his  success  as  our  Chief  Executive."  The  Republican  party 
suffers  at  the  hands  of  "a  lot  of  old  women  who  crept  into  power  when  the 
party  was  prosperous."  Its  salvation  depends  on  men  like  Senator  Borah. 
Roosevelt  has  drifted  away,  but  he  will  be  disciplined  and  taken  back.  He 
had  the  biggest  responsibility  of  any  President  since  Lincoln.  He  gave  the 
United  States  the  Panama  Canal  and  California  the  battleship  fleet.  No 
President  was  fairer  to  the  corporations.  Knight  thinks  he  will  be  the  next 
nominee  of  the  Republican  party  and  that  he  will  be  re-elected. 

As  for  our  city  government,  Knights  says  we  haven't  any  worthy  the 
name.  Rolph  will  not  be  re-elected.  "We  shall  have  a  union  labor  admin- 
istration next  time,"  he  says,  "for  the  city  is  now  in  the  hands  of  the  few 
and  comparison  between  the  Rolph  and  McCarthy  administrations  is  all  in 
favor  of  McCarthy's." 

Knight  is  not  in  sympathy  with  the  professional  reformers.  "If  we  try 
conscientiously  to  root  the  evil  out  of  our  own  souls  we'll  have  little  time  for 
reforming  our  neighbors." 

Pointing  out  that  of  the  Twelve  Apostles  there  was  one  who  betrayed 
the  Master,  one  who  denied  Him  and  one  who  doubted  Him,  Knight  says 
that  the  same  proportion  holds  good  among  all  men. 

"In  politics  the  ratio  is,  three    crooks    to   nine    honest    men,"    he  says. 

161 


VARIED     TYPES 

"Sometimes  there  are  more  than  three  crooks.  But  that  must  be  in  politics. 
The  politician  who  tries  to  beat  a  cinch  bill  by  silent  prayer  is  off  the  track. 
And  it  is  so  in  all  human  nature.  An  illustration :  The  Palace  Hotel  harbors 
the  finest  people  in  the  world.  And  yet,  if  Colonel  Kirkpatrick  would  give 
me  the  equivalent  of  what  guests  of  the  Palace  steal  every  year,  I'd  be  in- 
dependent for  life.  If  thievery  is  so  prevalent,  how  can  you  expect  purity  in 
politics?  And  yet  politicial  conditions  are  getting  better.  There  is  no  doubt 
about  that. 

"If  I  had  my  life  to  live  over  again  I'd  go  into  politics.  I  was  district 
attorney  for  three  terms  in  Humboldt,  but  I'm  thankful  that  I  never  ran  for 
any  important  office.  I've  had  the  freedom  of  the  private  offices  of  four 
governors,  Perkins,  Markham,  Budd  and  Gage,  but  I  never  made  use  of  it. 
The  lawyer  who  takes  a  fee  in  consideration  of  his  pull  with  a  governor  or 
any  other  official  is  not  honorable.  No  man  in  the  United  States  has  had 
more  solid  satisfaction  out  of  politics  than  I  have  had.  I've  enjoyed  the 
friendship  of  the  country's  big  men  since  the  eighties.  I've  had  the  honor  of 
speaking  in  Madison  Square  Garden  with  Roosevelt  and  Taft  to  twenty 
thousand  people,  an  honor  I  wouldn't  exchange  for  thousands  of  dollars.  My 
party  has  honored  me  and  my  ambitions  more  than  I  deserved;  that's  why 
I  cling  to  it. 

"But  politics  has  been  a  hindrance  to  me  in  my  profession.  It  has  taken 
me  away  for  long  periods  from  my  law  office.  And  besides,  the  public  has 
an  idea  that  the  man  who  can  talk  never  thinks. 

"If  I  were  starting  life  over  again  and  determined  to  succeed  in  politics 
at  any  cost,  if  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  into  politics  for  what  there  was  in  it, 
I'd  act  differently.  I'd  join  every  fraternal  organization  in  the  country.  I'd 
never  express  myself  affirmatively  on  anything.  You  wouldn't  be  able  to  pull 
a  definite  statement  out  of  me  with  a  boat  hook.  I'd  be  as  big  a  demagogue 
as  the  best  of  'em.  I'd  tell  the  people  that  they  ought  to  rule;  and  that  the 
government  ought  to  supply  them  with  everything  including  boots  and  hats. 
I'd  keep  talking  about  reform.  I'd  prate  about  honesty  on  the  principle  that, 
the  bigger  the  thief  the  louder  the  cry  of  'Stop  Thief!'  I'd  play  to  the  dis- 
honest part  of  humanity,  but  I'd  do  it  carefully  and  not  be  found  out.  I'd 
sing  'Onward,  Christian  Soldier'  and  I'd  say  'Thou  shalt  not  steal.'  That  is 
the  recipe  for  success  in  politics,  the  kind  of  success  a  certain  sort  of  politician 
achieves." 

I  have  a  suspicion  that  Knight  was  thinking  of  certain  Progressives.  I 
wonder  if  I'm  right? 


162 


ANDREW  M.   LAWRENCE 


Y 


WHO  KNEW  your  San  Francisco  in  the  olden  days  that 
are  no  more,  certainly  you  need  not  look  for  the  name  of  him 
whose  counterfeit  presentment  is  set  forth  with  this 
article.  Here  we  have  the  same  Napoleonic  head  (albeit 
without  the  Napoleonic  forelock,  for  the  hair  has  been  with- 
drawing its  thinned  ranks  for  a  good  while  now),  the  same 
strong  brow  across  which  thought  draws  its  wrinkles,  the 
same  steely  eyes  that  narrow  a  bit  to  look  you  up  and  down 
and  through  and  through,  the  same  militant  nose,  the  same  firm  but  good- 
natured  mouth  and  the  same  determined  chin  that  were  once  so  familiar  in 
the  thick  of  every  political  or  newspaper  scrap  in  the  vanished  era  of  San 
Francisco. 

Andrew  M.  Lawrence  has  put  on  a  little  of  the  flesh  of  Chicago 
prosperity  but  in  all  other  physical  characteristics  he  is  the  Andy  of  yesterday. 
Nowadays  he  is  a  greater  power  in  journalism  than  ever;  a  mighty  power  in 
politics  too,  and  a  man  of  wealth.  But  these  things  mean  little  to  his  old 
friends  in  San  Francisco.  They  take  a  generous  satisfaction  in  his  success, 
but  it  is  Andy  Lawrence  the  man  whom  they  welcome  home.  And  that  is  as 
Lawrence  would  have  it.  He  has  a  genius  for  friendship.  To  his  old  friends 
he  is  devoted  passionately. 

To  his  old  newspaper  pals  Lawrence  is  particularly  devoted.  A  lot  of 
them  have  died  or  passed,  like  himself  to  bigger  fields  of  activity;  but  with 
those  who  remain  he  takes  delight  in  remembering  old  times  and  laughing 
his  hearty  laugh  at  the  good  old  jokes.  Let  us  listen  to  some  of  his 
reminiscences. 

"After  the  great  Comstock  days  a  number  of  brilliant  newspapermen 
came  down  from  Virginia  City.  Among  these  was  dear  old  Arthur  McEwen. 
The  San  Francisco  papers  were  small  in  those  days  and  employed  few 
reporters.  McEwen  couldn't  find  work  here  so  he  went  to  Oakland  and 
shared  lodgings  with  Dan  O'Connell.  Both  were  very  hard  up  and  lived  in 
a  miserable  room  up  three  flights  in  a  Broadway  lodging  house.  Meals  were 
meager  and  far  between,  and  their  rent  was  months  in  arrears.  And  yet, 
somehow  or  other,  O'Connell  always  showed  the  cheerfulness  of  a  man  who 
had  dined  heartily.  McEwen  couldn't  understand  it.  Things  had  about 
reached  a  crisis  when  one  day  a  notice  came  from  the  owner  of  the  place  not 
to  pay  any  rent  to  the  landlord,  followed  by  a  notice  from  the  landlord  not 
to  pay  any  rent  to  the  owner.  There  was  a  fight  over  the  lease.  'Well, 
Dan,'  said  McEwen,  'that  disposes  of  one  of  our  worries  but  a  greater 
remains.  I  haven't  eaten  for  forty-eight  hours.  I'm  famished.  But  you 
look  like  a  man  who  has  just  dined.  Can't  you  let  me  in  on  your  secret?' 
O'Connell  in  his  most  polished  style  intimated  that  there  was  a  charming 

163 


VARIED    TYPES 

widow  who  was  affording  him  the  hospitality  of  her  board,  but  pointed  out 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  introduce  McEwen.  He  left  the  room  shortly 
afterwards,  and  McEwen  stealthily  followed  him.  McEwen  saw  O'Connell 
enter  a  cosy  little  restaurant  kept  by  a  widow.  It  was  an  inviting  place  and 
in  the  show  window,  as  the  piece  de  resistance  of  the  day,  was  a  fine  fat 
chicken  roasted  to  a  turn  and  garnished  with  vegetables  that  made  McEwen's 
mouth  water.  A  few  minutes  later  when  O'Connell  was  about  to  sit  down  to 
dinner  he  saw  the  door  of  the  restaurant  open  slowly  and  quietly.  Then  he 
saw  McEwen  peering  in.  The  coast  was  clear.  The  widow  was  not  looking. 
So  McEwen  introduced  through  the  open  door  a  stick  with  a  long  nail  fixed 
to  the  end  of  it.  He  speared  the  chicken,  hid  it  under  his  coat  and  tore  madly 
down  the  street. 

"Poor  as  he  was,  O'Connell  was  always  received  at  the  best  houses.  He 
went  one  evening  to  call  on  a  wealthy  woman  who  had  recently  lost  her 
husband.  She  knew  he  was  poor  and  noticed  his  shabby  clothes.  So  in  a 
very  delicate  way  she  conveyed  to  him  that  her  husband  had  left  behind  him 
a  large  wardrobe,  and  she  added  that  as  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  sell 
the  clothes,  perhaps  he  might  do  her  the  favor  of  accepting  them  for  his 
personal  use.  O'Connell  was  indignant  and  declined  her  offer  in  his  loftiest 
manner.  But  when  he  told  McEwen  and  another  with  whom  he  was  lodging 
— I  think  it  was  Nesbeth — about  the  widow's  offer,  they  burned  him  up. 
Was  he  acting  as  a  true  comrade,  they  demanded.  If  he  was  too  proud  to 
accept  the  clothes  for  himself,  had  he  no  consideration  for  them  ?  The  result 
was  that  O'Connell  returned  and  told  the  widow  that  he  had  two  friends 
temporarily  embarrassed  who  would  be  glad  to  accept  the  wardrobe.  Shortly 
afterwards  this  widow  gave  a  party  and  invited  O'Connell.  Dan  obtained 
permission  to  bring  McEwen  and  Nesbeth  along.  There  were  about  fifteen 
guests  assembled  when  the  three  entered  the  drawing  room.  Their  hostess 
took  one  look  at  them  and  shrieked  with  laughter.  O'Connell  was  attired 
in  her  lamented  husband's  full  dress  suit,  McEwen  wore  his  Tuxedo  and 
Nesbeth  sported  his  Prince  Albert. 

"We  were  all  poor  in  those  days.  Twenty-five  dollars  a  week  was 
considered  a  good  salary  for  a  newspaperman,  but  every  midnight  found  us 
broke.  At  twelve  o'clock  every  night  there  would  be  the  same  little  group 
sitting  in  the  local  room  of  the  Examiner  in  that  miserable  hole  we  used  to 
have  on  Sacramento  street.  There  would  be  Joe  Ward,  the  city  editor, 
'Blinker'  Murphy,  Zeehandelaar  and  myself,  all  without  a  cent.  'Well,'  Joe 
Ward  would  say  in  a  musing  voice,  'somebody's  got  to  die  tonight.'  When  a 
death  notice  was  brought  to  the  office  after  the  business  office  was  closed,  it 
was  turned  over  to  Jack  Bryant,  the  foreman  of  the  composing  room.  A 
death  notice  cost  a  dollar.  Sure  enough  someone  would  come  rushing  into 
the  office.  'Whom  would  you  like  to  see?'  Joe  Ward  would  ask,  stroking  his 
long  mustache  in  his  most  impressive  manner.  'Ah,  a  death  notice.  Yes, 
yes,  I  shall  attend  to  it.  One  dollar,  please.'  And  then  Joe  would  give 
Bryant  the  death  notice  with  a  tag  for  the  dollar. .  Bryant  would  be  furious, 
but  we  would  spend  the  dollar. 

"One  night  the  death  notice  failed  to  materialize  and  we  were  leaving  in 

164 


ANDREW     M.    LAWRENCE 


ANDREW     M.     LAWRENCE 

very  low  spirits,  when  who  should  come  tearing  along  the  street  but  Bill 
Dargie.  Bill  was  a  wonder,  the  greatest  Jimmy  Fixit  I  ever  knew.  He  had 
the  art  of  making  one  hand  wash  the  other  down  fine ;  was  always  borrowing 
ten  thousand  dollars  from  one  banker  to  pay  the  ten  thousand  he  owed  an- 
other and  simply  carrying  the  interest  along.  This  night  he  was  very 
excited.  'I'm  delighted  that  I  didn't  miss  you,  fellows,'  he  said.  'Now  about 
that  Oakland  banker  story.  I've  persuaded  the  Call  and  Chronicle  to  pass  it 
up  and  you  must  do  the  same  for  me.'  We  had  no  Oakland  banker  story, 
but  of  course  Ward  didn't  let  on.  By  a  few  deft  remarks  he  got  the  whole 
thing  out  of  Dargie.  'Well,  Bill,'  he  said  finally,  'as  a  special  favor  I'll  see 
what  I  can  do.'  He  went  back  to  the  local  room,  loitered  there  a  few  minutes 
and  then  returned.  'It's  all  right,  Bill/  he  announced,  'I've  killed  it.'  Bill 
was  delighted  and  took  us  all  over  to  the  California  Market,  where  at  his 
expense  of  course,  we  feasted  on  oysters  and  beer  for  two  hours.  When  he 
had  paid  the  bill  we  told  him  how  we  had  fooled  him  and  he  was  furious. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  story  of  old  Johnson,  the  policeman  who  was 
supposed  to  be  crazy?  That  was  the  greatest  practical  joke  I  ever  knew  of 
and  it  was  played  time  and  time  again,  usually  on  a  new  man.  Johnson  used 
to  chew  soap  so  that  he  would  foam  at  the  mouth  and  then  he  would  pull  out 
his  pistol  and  pretend  to  run  amuck  in  a  murderous  fit.  I  was  on  the  late  watch 
at  the  old  Hall  of  Justice  one  night.  The  reporter's  room  was  a  little  box  of 
a  room  with  a  partition  running  half  way  to  the  ceiling.  It  was  just  outside 
the  room  where  the  policemen  changed  watch.  Ned  Townsend  who  after- 
wards wrote  'Chimmie  Fadden'  was  there  as  a  cub  reporter.  Then  there  was 
rheumatic  old  John  McGrew  and  Michael  Angelo  Hevron,  veteran  reporters 
who  wore  silk  hats  and  dressed  like  gentlemen  of  the  old  school.  There 
was  a  youngster  named  Percy  Goldstone  on  the  Examiner  who  used  to  hang 
around  the  reporter's  room.  He  was  a  prying,  pestiferous  cub  and  everybody 
wanted  to  get  rid  of  him.  I  saw  Johnson  come  in  with  the  policemen  who 
were  going  off  watch  and  gave  him  the  signal  for  the  performance,  determined 
to  frighten  Percy  so  badly  that  he  would  never  bother  us  again.  Of  course 
I  thought  that  McGrew  and  Hevron  had  seen  the  joke  played  before.  'Hum,' 
I  said  to  McGrew,  loud  enough  for  Percy  and  Ned  Townsend  to  hear,  T  see 
old  Johnson's  back  again.  Look's  pretty  well  too,  doesn't  he?'  'Why,  has 
he  been  ill?'  McGrew  asked,  apparently  helping  me  out.  'Why,  yes,'  I 
replied;  'you  know  he  had  one  of  his  murderous  fits  a  few  days  ago.'  Oh,' 
exclaimed  McGrew,  'does  he  get  murderous  fits?'  T  thought  you  knew,' 
I  said.  'Ever  since  his  son  was  drowned  on  the  flat  at  Shell  Mound  he  has 
been  brooding  over  the  thing.  Imagines  the  boy  was  murdered  and  is  seized 
with  a  frenzy  in  which  he  goes  after  the  murderer.  The  last  time  he  had  a 
fit  he  shot  a  man  three  times  and  nearly  got  him.'  Percy's  eyes  were  getting 
bigger  and  bigger  and  Ned  Townsend  was  showing  signs  of  nervousness. 
Just  then  old  Johnson  let  a  yell  out  of  him  and  fell  over  backwards.  There 
was  pandemonium.  The  policemen  scattered  in  every  direction  as  Johnson, 
frothing  at  the  mouth  and  yelling  like  a  mad  man  staggered  to  his  feet  with 
his  revolver  in  his  hand.  Ned  Townsend  fainted,  old  Michael  Angelo  Hevron 
lost  his  silk  hat  and  fled  out  of  the  prison.  To  carry  out  the  illusion  I  started 

167 


VARIED    TYPES 

to  climb  over  the  partition  into  the  reporter's  room,  but  what  was  my  surprise 
to  have  rheumatic  old  McGrew  pull  me  down,  clamber  up  on  my  body,  sprawl 
over  the  wall  and  fall  in  a  heap  on  the  floor  of  the  reporter's  room.  I  had 
taken  it  for  granted  that  he  and  Hevron  were  on  to  the  joke,  but  they 
weren't.  Poor  Percy  was  at  the  steel  door  of  the  prison  begging  to  be  let 
through  and  crying  like  a  baby.  Just  as  Johnson  was  upon  him  with  his 
pistol  the  prison  keeper  let  him  through  and  Percy  fled  into  the  receiving 
hospital  with  old  Johnson  yelling  Til  get  him  yet!'  at  his  heels.  Percy  hid 
under  a  cot  but  Johnson  let  him  escape,  for  fear  he'd  die  of  fright.  We 
revived  Townsend,  helped  McGrew  to  pull  himself  together,  went  out  on 
the  street  and  found  Hevron,  but  Percy  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Finally 
we  found  him  stretched  out  in  a  tin  bathtub  in  the  hospital  with  the  wooden 
cover  drawn  over  him.  When  we  took  off  that  cover  his  eyes  were  glassy, 
his  face  was  as  white  as  paper  and  he  thought  his  end  had  come.  He  never 
bothered  us  in  the  reporter's  room  after  that.  I  let  Townsend  in  on  the 
joke,  but  we  never  dared  to  tell  the  two  old  boys  that  they  had  been  the 
victims  of  a  practical  joke." 

"What  was  the  greatest  newspaper  story  you  ever  handled  in  San 
Francisco?"  I  asked  Lawrence. 

"The  Benhayon  case,"  he  answered  instantly.  "No  other  story  ever 
seized  the  popular  mind  like  that."  And  he  went  on  to  tell  me  how  he  had 
"scooped"  the  other  papers  on  the  Benhayon  case  and  how  Hearst  rewarded 
him  by  making  him  Washington  correspondent  of  the  Examiner. 

It  was  a  narrative  of  absorbing  interest.  He  told  me  how  he  went  to  the 
morgue  that  Sunday  afternoon,  viewed  Benhayon's  body  and  read  two 
letters  which  had  been  found  near  it  in  the  Geary  street  lodging  house.  It 
was  an  uninteresting  suicide  case,  he  thought;  but  he  went  to  interview  the 
woman  who  kept  the  lodging  house  and  she  told  him  that  there  were  three 
letters,  one  addressed  to  the  coroner.  He  broke  the  news  of  the  suicide  to 
Benhayon's  father  and  went  back  to  the  coroner's  office  to  find  that  third 
letter.  But  Coroner  Stanton  refused  to  give  it  up.  Lawrence  began  to 
realize  that  he  was  on  the  track  of  a  big  sensation.  Benhayon,  as  old  San 
Franciscans  will  remember,  was  the  brother  of  Mrs.  Milton  Bowers  for  whose 
murder  Dr.  Bowers  was  awaiting  death.  With  the  assistance  of  Allan  Kelly, 
the  Examiner  reporter  who  afterwards  captured  the  grizzy  bear  Monarch, 
Lawrence  got  up  the  remarkable  story  of  the  Bowers  case,  tracing  Benhayon's 
connection  with  it.  Then  at  nightfall,  when  the  reporters  of  the  other  papers 
were  off  their  guard,  he  made  another  attempt  to  get  that  third  letter  from 
the  coroner.  But  the  coroner  was  obdurate.  Lawrence  had  been  putting  two 
and  two  together,  however.  He  had  noted  the  unusual  activities  of  Captain 
of  Detectives  Lees  and  Detective  Bob  Hogan.  He  resolved  on  a  coup. 
'Coroner,'  he  said,  'if  I  guess  the  contents  of  that  letter  will  you  tell  me 
whether  I  am  right  or  wrong?'  'I  will  tell  you  nothing,'  said  the  coroner.  'In 
that  letter,'  said  Lawrence,  'Henry  Benhayon  confessed  that  he  and  not  Dr. 
Bowers,  had  murdered  Mrs.  Bowers.'  'How  did  you  get  a  chance  to  read 
that  letter?'  demanded  the  coroner  in  amazement.  Lawrence  had  his  "scoop." 
The  Examiner  printed  four  pages  of  the  story  next  day  and  the  police 

168 


ANDREW    M.    LAWRENCE 

reporters  on  the  other  papers  lost  their  jobs.  Lawrence  went  on  to  trace  the 
subsequent  developments  of  this  amazing  case;  how  John  Dimmig  (who 
for  years  drove  a  hack  in  Powell  street)  was  brought  into  it;  how  Dimmig 
was  identified  as  the  man  who  bought  the  poison  from  which  Benhayon  died ; 
how  he  was  also  identified  as  the  man  who  bought  the  poisons  found  in  Dr. 
Bowers'  cell ;  how  he  denied  knowing  Bowers  but  was  forced  to  admit  that 
he  had  married  Bowers'  housekeeper;  and  so  on  through  the  remarkable 
chain  of  incriminating  facts  which  led  to  Dimmig's  trial  for  murder.  Dimmig, 
as  we  all  know,  was  acquitted  and  Bowers  also  went  free  after  his  second 
trial.  The  mystery  of  the  Benhayon  case  was  never  solved,  but  Lawrence 
thinks  that  he  committed  suicide,  having  been  first  persuaded  by  curious 
representations  to  write  the  letter  which  would  exonerate  Bowers.  Several 
years  afterwards  when  Mrs.  Zeissing  who  had  nursed  Mrs.  Bowers  before 
her  death  and  was  supposed  to  know  the  whole  story,  lay  dying  outside  of 
San  Francisco,  Lawrence  as  managing  editor  of  the  Examiner  sent  a  reporter 
to  her  to  get  her  deathbed  story,  but  she  took  the  secret  to  her  grave. 

"There's  a  little  bird  who  sits  up  aloft  and  looks  after  a  newspaperman 
who  is  fighting  for  the  right,"  commented  Lawrence.  He  had  been  telling 
me  another  remarkable  newspaper  story ;  the  story  of  the  legislative  investiga- 
tion which  led  to  his  arrest  for  contempt  of  the  Senate.  The  Hale  and 
Norcross  litigation  in  which  Alvinza  Hayward  and  other  millionaires  were 
interested,  was  before  Judge  Hebbard  and  a  bill  was  introduced  in  the 
Legislature  to  allow  a  litigant  to  have  a  case  transferred  on  an  affidavit 
alleging  prejudice  in  the  judge.  Lawrence  got  a  tip  that  the  bill  was  aimed 
at  Judge  Hebbard  and  that  money  was  being  used  to  rush  it  through  the 
Legislature.  The  Examiner  published  this  charge  without  having  adequate 
proof.  Both  houses  started  investigations,  and  Lawrence  was  subpoenaed  to 
testify.  He  went  to  Sacramento  with  an  array  of  counsel  including  Garret 
McEnerney,  George  Knight  and  Andrew  Clunie.  It  looked  bad  for  the 
Examiner  but  "the  little  bird  sitting  up  aloft"  came  to  his  assistance.  A 
stranger  told  him  that  he  had  overheard  a  conversation  on  the  train  in  which 
a  telegraph  operator  had  remarked  that  if  the  Examiner  could  get  hold  of 
the  telegrams  in  the  Sacramento  office  of  the  Western  Union,  its  charges 
would  be  more  than  verified.  But  the  investigating  committees  refused  to 
demand  the  telegrams  and  committed  Lawrence  for  refusing  to  answer  a 
question.  There  ensued  a  battle  of  writs  with  Lawrence  straining  every 
nerve  to  break  into  what  he  was  sure  was  a  nest  of  legislative  corruption.  Old 
San  Franciscans  will  remember  Knight's  famous  "appeal  to  a  Republican 
Legislature"  and  Senator  Morehouse's  appeal  to  his  own  "stainless  heart." 
Then  followed  Morehouse's  confession  that  he  had  changed  his  vote  on  the 
bill  by  order  of  a  railroad  attorney,  and  the  big  sensation  which  changed  the 
current  of  the  investigation,  the  publication  of  the  telegram  from  a  lobbyist 
to  an  interior  banker  asking  for  four  thousand  dollars  to  grease  the  passage 
of  the  coyote  scalp  bill.  "These  fellows  are  as  hungry  as  wolves"  was  part 
of  that  message.  The  most  spectacular  incident  of  all  was  the  discovery, 
when  the  legislative  committees  finally  ordered  the  production  of  the 
messages  by  the  Western  Union  Company,  that  these  were  being  rushed  out 

169 


VARIED    TYPES 

of  the  State  on  the  Overland  Limited.  And  when  a  Truckee  constable  brought 
them  back  enough  were  published,  in  relation  to  the  coyote  scalp  bill  alone, 
to  besmirch  forty-four  members  of  the  Legislature. 

I  wish  I  had  room  for  the  story  of  how  Lawrence  put  Sam  Rainey  out 
of  politics  ("Take  gas  and  water  out  of  politics  and  I'll  go  with  them," 
Rainey  told  Lawrence  one  day)  by  nominating  James  D.  Phelan  for  mayor 
when  the  old  boss  wanted  Colin  M.  Boyd.  I  wish  I  could  go  over,  as  he  did, 
the  history  of  the  epochal  fight  to  make  Fred  Esola  chief  of  police,  a  fight 
which  engendered  enmities  that  still  exist.  Lawrence  thinks  there  was  a 
strange  fatality  about  that  fight.  The  two  men  who  became  chief  of  police 
as  a  result  of  it,  both  owed  their  deaths  to  the  position,  Sullivan  and  Biggy. 
Lawrence  still  insists  that  Esola  would  have  made  a  good  chief. 

"Maybe  I  was  wrong,"  he  says,  "but  if  I  was  blinded  by  anything  it  was 
friendship.  I  had  known  Esola  from  the  old  days  at  the  Union  Grammar 
School.  When  I  became  an  assemblyman  I  had  him  appointed  sergeant 
of  the  Democratic  caucus.  Afterwards  I  had  Chief  Crowley  appoint  him  to 
the  police  force.  On  his  own  merits  he  became  a  lieutenant.  He  was  honest 
and  he  was  above  the  average  of  policemen  in  intelligence.  And  he  was  my 
friend,  so  I  went  the  distance  for  him." 

It  would  be  interesting  too  to  go  over  the  story  of  Lawrence's  political 
fights  in  Chicago;  to  tell  for  instance  how  he  was  in  the  center  of  a  battle 
which  produced  a  decision  regarding  the  liberty  of  the  press  which,  in  the 
opinion  of  Joseph  Choate,  will  stand  forever  as  American  law.  Or  how  he 
fought  Roger  Sullivan  to  a  standstill,  rejected  Sullivan's  shrewd  suggestion 
that  Lawrence  himself  run  for  mayor  of  Chicago,  and  helped  Carter  Harrison 
win  the  primary  election  which  broke  the  backbone  of  Sullivan's  political 
strength.  These  are  all  absorbing  stories.  But  enough  has  been  told  to 
engage  the  interest  of  old  San  Franciscans.  Lawrence  belongs  to  a  San 
Francisco  past  which  is  only  yesterday,  yet  it  seems  a  long  way  off.  It  is 
a  past  which  taught  him  many  lessons.  As  a  result  of  it  he  is  today  a  bigger, 
broader  man  than  the  Andy  we  used  to  know. 


170 


JESSE  W.  LILIENTHAL 


I  I  1 


THE  happiest  man  in  the  world." 

Looking  at  Jesse  W.  Lilienthal,  the  president  of  the 
United  Railroads,  one  sees  instantly  that  he  is  a  very  happy 
man.  Hearing  him  expound  his  philosophy  of  life,  one  under- 
stands easily  just  why  he  should  be  happy.  If  Jesse  W. 
Lilienthal  were  not  happy  I  wonder  who  in  the  world  would 
be. 

Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  is  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  San 
Francisco  bar.  He  is  the  president  of  one  of  the  biggest  corporations  in  the 
West.  He  is  generously  favored  with  this  world's  goods.  To  say  that  these 
are  not  elements  in  the  composite  of  his  happiness  would  be  to  write  cant. 
Position  and  wealth  may  always  contribute  to  happiness.  But  they  do  not 
make  happiness,  and  in  the  case  of  Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  they  are  not  the  basis 
of  happiness.  When  he  said  to  me  that  he  was  the  happiest  man  in  the 
world  he  referred  to  something  nobler,  as  the  context  of  his  remark  will 
indicate. 

Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  is  so  happy  because  he  has  the  power  and  the 
inclination  to  confer  happiness  on  others.  But  let  us  not  call  him  a 
philanthropist,  for  that  is  a  word  of  many  odious  implications.  Rather  let 
us  say  that  Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  is  a  charitable  man. 

Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  has  the  look  of  a  happy  man.  There  is  in  his  face 
that  appearance  of  peace  and  content  which  is  the  reflection  of  a  clear 
conscience.  It  is  a  handsome  face  in  the  first  place.  The  lines  of  this  face 
and  the  modeling  of  the  features  show  the  beauty  of  masculine  strength. 
The  brown  eyes  are  clear  and  keen;  the  nose  shows  character;  the  mouth  is 
firm  above  a  firm  chin.  There  is  an  agreeable  contrast  between  the  healthy 
brown  of  the  complexion  and  the  silver  of  the  hair  thinning  over  a  fine  brow. 
If  Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  were  a  stern  man  he  would  still  be  handsome;  but 
not  so  attractively  handsome  as  he  is  with  kindly  gentleness  and  intelligent 
sympathy  announcing  themselves  to  all  who  read  a  man  in  the  man's 
physiognomy.  Here  is  a  man,  I  should  say,  whom  children  love  at  first 
sight. 

Granting  that  the  public  has  the  right  to  know  something  about  the 
president  of  a  public  service  corporation,  Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  talked  quite 
freely  about  himself.  He  talked  about  himself  frankly  and  with  a  charming 
lack  of  self-consciousness.  He  explained  his  way  of  life  so  that  people  might 
know  about  him  and  so  that  other  men  might  be  induced  to  follow  his 
example. 

"Four  years  ago,"  he  told  me,  "I  made  a  formal  announcement  to  my 
wife  and  son.  I  announced  to  them  that  thereafter  I  intended  to  spend  my 
entire  annual  income  by  the  thirty-first  of  every  December.  I  told  them  that 

171 


VARIED    TYPES 

I  had  invested  enough  money  to  guard  them  against  want  in  the  event  of 
my  death,  the  failure  of  my  law  practice  or  any  other  accident  which  might 
prevent  my  contributing  to  their  support.  I  told  them  that  we  should 
continue  to  live  well,  not  depriving  ourselves  of  any  of  the  comforts  we  were 
accustomed  to;  but  that  no  surplus  would  be  carried  over  from  one  year  to 
the  next.  All  that  we  did  not  need  would  be  spent  for  the  good  of  our 
neighbors.  My  wife  and  son  approved  of  this  arrangement,  and  I  have 
carried  it  out  ever  since.  At  the  end  of  every  year  the  last  cent  of  my  income 
has  been  spent. 

"This  arrangement  has  made  me  the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  It  has 
so  altered  my  attitude  toward  life  that  when  a  man  comes  to  me  for  help  in 
rounding  a  bad  corner  I  do  not  feel  that  I  am  doing  him  a  favor  but  that 
he  is  conferring  an  obligation  on  me.  He  is  helping  me  to  live  my  life  the 
way  I  want  to  live  it." 

At  first  blush  this  all  seems  quite  amazing.  The  idea  of  a  man  getting 
rid  of  his  money  by  the  end  of  every  year  and  starting  fresh  on  the  first  of 
January  is  apt  to  disturb  our  set  notions  of  life  and  the  way  to  live  it.  But 
properly  considered  the  amazing  thing  is  that  more  prosperous  men  do  not 
solve  the  problem  of  right  living  the  way  Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  has  solved  it. 
It  is  a  truism  that  the  rich  render  themselves  miserable  by  striving  to  accum- 
ulate more  and  more  every  year. 

"Why  cannot  men  know  when  they  have  enough?"  asks  Lilienthal.  "For 
one  man  enough  may  be  ten  thousand ;  for  another  it  may  mean  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  But  let  every  man  fix  a  term  to  his  desires,  and  spend 
everything  over  and  above  the  amount  that  makes  him  independent.  I  think 
that  by  so  doing  he  will  discover  the  secret  of  happiness." 

It  is  reasonable.  But  how  many  will  find  inspiration  in  Lilienthal's 
words?  How  many  will  follow  the  example  of  this  president  of  a  corporation 
who  finds  peace  and  content  in  giving?  Are  there  other  Lilienthals  in  this 
day  of  mad  scrambling  for  greater  and  greater  riches?  Let  us  hope  so,  even 
if  we  hope  against  hope. 

The  example  set  by  Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  would  be  less  impressive  if  he 
were  a  man  who  had  reached  the  climax  of  his  mental  resources  and 
exhausted  his  physical  capacity  for  hard  work.  But  he  has  not.  He  is  fifty- 
eight  years  old,  in  the  flower  of  a  vigorous  maturity.  His  life  has  been  one 
of  hard  work ;  and  so  far  from  quitting  work,  he  has  assumed  a  responsibility 
which  doubles  the  demands  upon  his  time.  As  he  follows  the  rule  laid  down 
four  years  ago  with  scrupulous  exactitude  this  means  that  he  has  more  to 
give  away  than  before. 

"One  of  the  papers,"  said  Lilienthal,  "in  commenting  on  my  new 
position  as  head  of  the  United  Railroads  said  that  I  was  a  glutton  for  work. 
I  suppose  I  am.  I  haven't  any  inclination  for  play.  I  go  to  the  theatres 
occasionally,  I  love  music  and  pictures;  but  I  don't  golf — in  fact  I  haven't 
had  any  regular  diversion  since  I  left  off  the  baseball  and  tennis  of  my  boy- 
hood days.  Frequently  when  I  go  home  tired  after  a  day's  work  I  find  that 
a  light  novel  has  been  left  invitingly  open  where  I  may  see  it.  I  pick  it  up 
and  turn  over  a  few  pages,  but  before  long  I  lay  it  down  and  reach  for  a  law 

172 


JESSE    W.     LILIENTHAL 


JESSE     W.     LILIENTHAL 

journal.  My  happiness  is  in  my  work.  Since  my  new  duties  began  I  arrive 
at  my  law  office  at  half  past  seven  in  the  morning;  sometimes  I  don't  reach 
home  till  a  quarter  to  seven  and  then,  as  likely  as  not,  I  take  a  bundle  of 
legal  papers  with  me  and  work  till  ten  in  the  evening.  For  I  do  not  intend 
to  give  up  my  law  practice.  I  still  want  to  talk  to  a  judge  once  in  a  while. 
But  my  law  business  is  well  organized.  I  have  splendid  partners  and  efficient 
clerks,  so  I  can  find  time  for  this  additional  work. 

"Why  did  I  take  up  this  additional  responsibility?  That  is  difficult  to 
answer.  I  must  say  I  was  surprised  when  the  offer  was  made  to  me.  I 
locked  myself  in  my  office  and  thought  it  over.  I  could  come  to  no  decision, 
so  I  went  to  two  friends,  men  whose  names  I  should  like  to  mention  to  you 
because  they  are  men  of  the  highest  standing  here.  I  laid  the  matter  before 
them,  explaining  that  I  had  not  yet  made  my  decision.  They  considered  it 
and  urged  me  to  accept.  I  went  East  and  talked  with  the  New  York  people 
who  had  made  the  offer.  I  asked  them  whether  they  expected  me  to  be  a 
mere  figurehead,  saying  that  I  could  not  accept  the  offer  if  that  were  the  case. 
They  replied  that  I  was  not  to  be  anything  of  the  sort;  that  they  had 
gathered  proxies  for  every  share  of  United  Railroad  stock  and  that  these 
would  be  turned  over  to  me  so  that  I  might  pick  out  my  own  board  of 
directors  and  my  own  subordinates.  I  told  them  finally  that  I  would  accept 
if  they  would  postpone  my  taking  charge  for  sixty  days.  They  agreed  and 
I  took  a  vacation  in  Europe,  a  splendid  vacation  most  of  which  was  spent  in 
picture  galleries. 

"The  meeting  was  to  take  place  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  August,  1913, 
just  two  days  after  the  bond  election.  It  was  necessary  for  me  to  explain 
the  situation  to  the  men  I  wanted  to  serve  with  me  on  the  board.  When  ten 
or  so  know  a  secret  it  is  pretty  hard  to  keep  it  from  the  papers.  Reporters 
began  making  inquiries.  That  is  why  the  announcement  was  made  at  that 
particular  time.  The  news  could  not  be  kept  secret  any  longer. 

"The  manner  in  which  the  news  was  received  was  very  gratifying  indeed. 
My  work  starts  under  happy  auspices.  In  three  months  I  may  be  the  most 
abused  man  in  the  city,  but  my  mistakes  will  not  be  of  the  heart.  That  I 
shall  make  mistakes  of  judgment  I  do  not  doubt,  for  I  have  made  plenty  in 
the  past.  One  is  apt  to  err  in  solving  problems,  and  I  have  been  attempting 
to  solve  them  all  my  life.  This  which  I  am  attempting  now  is  an  interesting 
one.  There  are  animosities  to  remove  and  I  shall  try  to  remove  them.  I 
shall  try  to  meet  the  public  half  way.  Of  course  we  shall  not  be  able  to  give 
everything  that  is  asked,  but  shall  do  our  best." 

I  hazard  the  guess  that  Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  would  not  have  accepted  the 
presidency  of  the  United  Railroads  if  the  acceptance  had  involved  the 
discontinuance  of  his  charitable  activities.  He  is  a  member  of  the  probation 
committee  of  the  Juvenile  Court  and  is  one  of  the  most  active  workers 
among  the  delinquent  and  dependent  children  over  whom  that  court  has 
jurisdiction.  This,  I  think,  is  his  favorite  work  of  charity. 

"If  there  is  any  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness  in  a  man,"  he  says,  "this 
work  will  bring  it  out." 

Jesse  W.  Lilienthal  is  also  president  of  the  Recreation  League,  president 

175 


VARIED    TYPES 

of  the  Tuberculosis  Society,  president  of  the  Society  for  the  Study  of  the 
Exceptional  Child,  and  a  director  of  the  Boys'  and  Girls'  Aid  Society  and  of 
the  Remedial  Loan  Association. 

Plainly,  the  man  who  has  a  law  practice  and  the  business  of  a  public 
service  corporation  to  take  care  of  and  who  can  still  find  time  for  all  these 
good  works  is  a  remarkable  character.  But  he  has  assistance. 

"Fortunately,"  says  Jesse  W.  Lilienthal,  "my  wife  is  in  a  position  to 
spare  a  great  deal  of  time  from  her  domestic  duties,  and  she  is  sympathetic 
with  all  my  work." 

Is  it  any  wonder  he  says  he's  the  happiest  man  in  the  world? 


176 


$2  ^  S2 
V  I)  V 

•*\f*     \       f     r\c>~ 

W  W  SP 

r^ff*  M  /<• 


p.  H.  MCCARTHY 


'RGANIZED  labor  in  California,"  says  P.  H.  McCarthy,  "is 
getting  stronger  and  more  conservative." 

McCarthy  ought  to  know,  for  there  are  fifty-five 
thousand  workers  in  the  State  Building  Trades  Council 
which  he  heads. 

McCarthy    is    getting    more    conservative    too.      So    at 

v _^_,,  least  it  seems  to  one  after  a  chat  with  him.    He  talks  better 

than  he  used  to.  He  always  had  the  gift  of  the  gab,  but  he 
impresses  one  as  calmer  and  keener  than  of  yore.  There  is  more  breadth  to 
him.  It  is  not  so  easy  now  to  get  his  views  of  men.  He  prefers  to  talk  of 
measures.  But  he's  the  same  old  hard  hitter  when  you  get  him  started. 

I  should  say  offhand  that  McCarthy's  service  on  the  Board  of  Directors 
of  the  World's  Fair  has  done  him  a  lot  of  good.  It  has  brought  him  in  con- 
tact, as  never  before,  not  even  when  he  was  Mayor,  with  the  conservative 
forces  of  the  community.  He  started  on  common  ground  with  these  men, 
to  be  sure.  All  the  World's  Fair  men  are  striving  for  the  good  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. But  in  the  inevitable  clash  of  wills  these  men  have  done  McCarthy 
good. 

McCarthy  has  done  them  good  too,  I'll  be  bound.  Ask  them  about  him. 
They  don't  talk  of  him  as  an  ogre  any  more.  They  praise  him  highly  and 
sincerely.  They  confess  that  they  couldn't  have  gotten  along  without  him. 
He  promised  at  the  start  that  there  would  be  no  labor  difficulties  on  the  Fair 
grounds.  There  haven't  been  any.  Several  times  they  have  been  narrowly 
averted,  and  McCarthy  was  the  averter  in  every  instance.  The  general  public 
doesn't  know  this.  But  then,  a  lot  of  things  have  happened  inside  that  Ex- 
position fence  of  which  the  general  public,  for  its  peace  of  mind,  has  been 
kept  in  ignorance. 

McCarthy  won't  talk  much  about  his  Exposition  work.  But  he  said  one 
thing  worth  repeating: 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  Exposition  work,  San  Francisco  would  have 
had  a  very  hard  time.  There  would  have  been  an  enormous  number  of  men 
out  of  work.  For  mark  you,  the  membership  of  our  unions  has  not  increased 
a  great  deal  since  the  Exposition  work  began.  The  Board  of  Directors  had 
no  design  of  excluding  outsiders,  but  local  men  have  done  the  bulk  of  the 
work.  And  the  outsiders  have  been  drawn  largely  from  the  transbay  regions. 
The  millions  that  have  been  spent  for  labor  have  gone  to  men  who  have 
families  in  San  Francisco  and  the  nearby  cities." 

Turning  from  the  World's  Fair  to  San  Francisco  in  general,  McCarthy 
was  more  communicative.  In  three  years  of  private  life  he  has  had  lots  of 
time  for  observation  and  what  he  has  seen  has  given  him,  he  says,  "plenty 
of  food  for  thought." 

177 


VARIED    TYPES 

"What  Barnum  said  of  the  American  people  is  true  of  the  people  of  San 
Francisco,"  he  says.  "They  like  to  be  fooled.  Those  who  laid  the  wires 
against  me  three  years  ago  seem  to  be  of  that  opinion  too.  I  have  tried  at 
times  to  understand  some  of  the  things  that  have  been  done  here  during  the 
past  three  years.  Even  by  throwing  myself  into  the  craziest  frame  of  mind 
possible  I  have  not  succeeded.  They  are  beyond  me. 

"The  people  were  told  by  the  gentlemen  who  opposed  my  re-election  that 
my  defeat  would  mean  untold  millions  of  dollars  and  thousands  of  new 
settlers  for  San  Francisco.  One  speaker,  I  recall,  declared  that  if  Mr.  Rolph 
were  elected  in  September  ninety  per  cent  of  the  vacant  flats  would  be  rented 
before  the  first  of  the  year.  There  are  still  quite  a  number  of  vacant  flats. 

"Despite  these  and  other  glittering  promises  they  had  rather  a  hard  time 
beating  McCarthy.  They  spent  a  million  and  three-quarters  in  that  cam- 
paign. It  has  been  estimated  that  thirty-six  hundred  men  worked  against 
me.  Hundreds  of  them  received  ten  dollars  a  day  for  traducing  me  on  the 
streets,  in  the  cars,  in  saloons.  Between  sixteen  and  eighteen  thousand  were 
registered  who  had  no  right  to  vote.  There  was  a  registration  booth  near  the 
Ferry  for  the  convenience  of  commuters.  We  arrested  two  of  them  for 
voting,  if  you  remember.  But  when  I  asked  that  the  roll  be  purged  the  reply 
was  that  there  was  no  money  available.  The  police  captains  were  all  switched 
twelve  days  before  the  election.  And  the  count  of  votes  was  peculiar.  When 
a  ballot  is  handled  nineteen  times  instead  of  once,  as  the  law  commands, 
some  strange  things  can  happen.  My  opponents  lost  a  great  deal  of  money 
betting  that  I  couldn't  poll  fourteen  thousand  votes.  But  in  spite  of  it  all 
I  got  twenty-seven  thousand." 

Some  of  these  latter  statements  are  undeniably  true.  Others  are  not  so 
acceptable.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that  McCarthy  believes  them  all.  Despite 
his  growing  conservatism  it  is  still  possible  for  McCarthy's  admirers  to  con- 
vince him  that  the  enormous  sum  of  a  million  and  three-quarters  was  spent 
to  compass  his  defeat.  Rolph  didn't  cost  his  backers  anywhere  near  that  sum. 

"What  has  been  done?  What  is  the  condition  of  the  city  formerly  held 
back  by  McCarthy,  the  labor  agitator?  Well,"  continued  McCarthy,  "I 
remember  that  three  years  ago  a  number  of  speeches  were  made  to  the  good 
people  of  Ingleside  who  had  no  water.  A  day  of  oratory  was  devoted  to 
telling  them  how  quickly  they  were  going  to  get  that  water.  They  haven't 
got  it  yet. 

"In  the  matter  of  morals  San  Francisco  is  worse  off  than  ever.  Is  the 
Barbary  Coast  closed?  I  hear  they  are  selling  near-beer  down  there  that 
contains  about  fourteen  per  cent  of  alcohol. 

"The  Municipal  Clinic  is  closed,  there's  no  doubt  about  that.  Every 
crook  in  town,  every  man  making  a  dollar  off  lewd  women,  fought  it.  I  was 
for  the  Clinic.  I  stood  with  Father  Weyman  for  the  regulation  of  vice.  The 
man  who  thinks  you  can  wipe  out  prostitution  as  you  wipe  a  slate  with  a 
sponge  is  wrong  in  the  head. 

"There  were  no  streetwalkers  in  San  Francisco  when  McCarthy  was 
Mayor.  Look  at  the  streets  now. 

"The  scandalizers,  the  people   of   evil   mind,   took   my   statement  about 

178 


p.   H.   MCCARTHY 


p.   H.   MCCARTHY 

making  this  city  the  'Paris  of  America'  and  put  their  own  vile  construction 
on  it.  The  cultured  traveler  doesn't  go  to  Paris  to  find  wickedness;  he  goes 
there  to  enjoy  pictures,  statues,  fine  architecture,  beautiful  boulevards  and 
parks.  I  wanted  to  attract  that  traveler  to  San  Francisco;  but  my  intention 
was  misrepresened. 

"There  was  no  reason  why  I  should  be  misunderstood.  I  always  spoke 
straight  out.  And  I  never  sidestepped.  I  was  for  women's  suffrage,  and  said 
so  during  my  campaign.  What  did  Mr.  Rolph  do?  He  sidestepped  the 
question. 

"I  have  not  been  a  trimmer  in  politics.  I  have  no  use  for  the  trimmer. 
The  trimmer  doesn't  succeed  very  long.  The  people  get  on  to  him.  It  is 
impossible  to  be  everybody's  man.  If  you  carry  water  on  both  shoulders  you 
can't  go  very  far.  You  know  what  Lincoln  said  about  fooling  the  people. 
The  trimmer  is  always  trimmed. 

"I  am  not  impressed  with  the  value  of  the  handshake  as  a  political  asset. 
The  glad  hand  has  seen  its  best  days.  A  tired  wrist  is  no  indication  of 
success.  As  a  political  institution  the  handshake  has  lost  its  usefulness. 

"Not  all  our  politicians  realize  this.  While  they  do  not  manage  to  fool 
the  people,  they  manage  to  fool  themselves.  I  suppose  a  phrenologist  could 
explain  why  this  is  so.  There  is  always  the  chance  that  the  man  in  power 
will  be  swayed  by  continual  contact  with  designing  persons  who  have  selfish 
motives  for  directing  his  mind  along-  certain  lines.  The  strong  man  is  not 
going  to  be  swayed.  But  let  us  charitably  remember  that  human  nature  is 
weak  at  best. 

"Some  people  advocate  the  recall  as  a  cure  for  municipal  ills.  I  don't 
believe  in  it  and  would  not  assist  a  recall  movement.  The  recall  is  not  an 
effective  weapon,  and  it  is  not  a  fair  test  of  political  strength.  It  is  apt  to 
be  a  tool  of  evil.  You  can't  legislate  men  honest.  There  are  many  other 
ways  of  curbing  dishonest  or  incompetent  officials." 

"Have  you  ever  joined  a  woman's  auxiliary?"  I  asked,  thinking  of  Mayor 
Rolph's  recent  initiation  in  the  Degree  of  Pocahontas,  the  women's  auxiliary 
of  the  Red  Men. 

"The  only  woman's  society  I  belong  to  is  Mrs.  McCarthy's,"  said  P.  H. 

He  took  out  his  watch  and  showed  me  a  picture  of  the  other  members, 
five  fine  looking  youngsters. 


181 


GAVIN   McNAB 


VERYBODY  remembers  what  a  hectic  celebration  the  town 
had  that  night  in  November,  1905,  when  Eugene  E.  Schmitz 
was  elected  mayor  for  the  third  time.  With  the  aid  of  the 
new  voting  machines  the  fusion  ticket  had  been  completely 
routed  and  Ruef's  painteaters  rode  into  office  on  the  crest 
of  the  wave  of  popular  opinion.  The  tenderloin  went  wild 
with  delight,  the  saloons  were  jammed  with  thirsty 
politicians,  there  were  parades,  bands  and  firecrackers.  To 
add  to  the  excitement  of  the  night  the  Chronicle  tower  caught  fire  and 
wonderful  coppery  beacons  flamed  in  the  sky  while  thousands  of  men  and 
women  stood  around  and  enjoyed  the  spectacle.  Ruef  was  a  busy  man  that 
night.  He  was  master  of  the  revels  and  his  remarkable  brain  devised  all 
sorts  of  insults  to  the  fallen  foe.  Among  other  things  he  gave  orders  for  a 
funeral  procession  and  to  the  strains  of  the  Dead  March  from  Saul  a  drunken 
mob  of  his  wardheelers  marched  through  the  downtown  streets,  finally 
depositing  a  coffin  on  the  threshold  of  the  Occidental  Hotel.  Gavin  McNab 
lived  at  the  Occidental  and  the  coffin  was  meant  for  him.  Next  day  McNab 
met  Ruef. 

"I  see  you  left  an  empty  coffin  on  my  doorstep  last  night,"  said  McNab. 
Ruef  grinned. 

"Well,"  continued  the  Democratic  boss,  "the  events  of  the  next  two  years 
will  determine  who  is  to  fill  it,  you  or  I." 

This  story  is  not  told  for  the  purpose  of  jibing  at  a  broken  man.  Far 
be  it  from  me  to  strike  at  Ruef,  now  that  he  is  down.  I  simply  repeat  the 
incident  for  its  bearing  on  Gavin  McNab's  career.  Many  bosses  have  come 
and  gone  during  his  years  of  political  leadership.  Not  a  few  have  regarded 
him  as  Ruef  regarded  him.  But  like  Ruef  they  have  gone  to  their  political 
coffins,  while  Gavin  McNab  has  yet  to  catch  the  personal  note  in  the  strains 
of  the  dead  march.  Some  day,  perhaps  at  no  distant  date,  he  will  retire  from 
politics,  but  he  will  retire  because  he  has  exhausted  politics,  not  because 
politics  has  exhausted  him.  When  the  time  comes  to  encoffin  his  political 
career,  Gavin  McNab  will  perform  the  obsequies  himself. 

If  mere  defeat  could  destroy  the  power  of  a  political  leader  Gavin. 
McNab  would  have  been  destroyed  years  ago.  No  political  dominance  of 
equal  duration  was  ever  crushed  as  frequently  as  McNab's.  He  has 
probably  lost  as  many  elections  as  he  has  won.  But  like  the  demigod,  every 
time  he  has  been  felled  he  has  risen  with  renewed  vigor;  and  many  of  the 
victories  have  been  Pyrrhic  victories.  Looking  back  over  his  career  it  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  his  defeats  have  done  him  as  much  honor  as  his 
triumphs ;  sometimes  more,  for  a  triumph  involves  difficult  responsibilities 
from  which  a  defeat  is  happily  free. 

182 


GAVIN     McNAB 


GAVIN     McNAB 

What  is  the  secret  of  his  continued  leadership  through  lean  years  and 
«,fat?  It  is  no  secret.  Anybody  who  knows  Tammany  in  New  York  or  the 
Democratic  organization  in  San  Francisco  can  explain  it. 

"I  introduced  absolute  local  autonomy  in  the  party,"  said  McNab. 
"District  leadership  was  district  leadership  in  fact,  not  in  theory.  The  men 
elected  to  office  were  the  sole  judges  of  patronage  and  they  divided  the 
patronage  among  the  districts  in  accordance  with  the  best  judgment  of  the 
district  leaders.  If  a  district  could  not  supply  a  good  man  for  a  job,  the 
job  did  not  go  to  a  bad  man  in  that  district;  it  went  to  a  good  man  in  some 
other  district.  Sometimes  when  the  time  came  to  distribute  patronage  I 
did  not  have  the  disposal  of  a  single  place.  I  was  the  leader,  it  is  true,  but 
my  leadership  was  an  abstract  thing.  That's  why  my  political  enemies 
couldn't  destroy  it.  You  can't  destroy  an  abstraction." 

Being  a  Scotchman  with  the  Scotch  leaning  toward  metaphysics  McNab 
probably  lays  a  little  too  much  emphasis  on  the  "abstract  idea."  Even  the 
Tammany  system  of  district  autonomy  demands  something  more  than 
"abstract"  leadership  in  the  boss  and  the  Tammany  system,  owing  to  the 
exceedingly  healthy  opposition  of  the  Republican  and  Union  Labor 
organizations,  has  never  been  perfected  in  San  Francisco.  Hence  it  has 
frequently  happened  that  McNab's  "abstract"  leadership  has  been  trans- 
formed to  bossing  of  the  concrete  description — and  reinforced  concrete  at 
that.  And  when  his  bossing  displeased  the  district  bosslets,  district  leader- 
ship became  a  figment  of  fancy  and  McNab  landed  on  the  recalcitrants  like 
a  load  of  bricks. 

That  is  why  he  has  so  many  enemies  within  and  without  the  party. 

"I  am  the  only  Democrat  who  could  bring  out  the  entire  vote,"  he  used 
to  say.  "If  I  ran  for  office  my  friends  would  vote  for  me  and  my  enemies 
would  go  to  the  polls  in  full  force  just  to  show  what  they  thought  of  me." 

McNab  likes  to  talk  about  his  friends. 

"I  wouldn't  exchange  the  friendships  I  have  made  in  politics  for  anything 
in  the  world,"  he  says.  "That  is  the  best  thing  about  politics.  It  is  the 
greatest  panorama  of  human  nature  we  have.  Men  are  men  in  politics;  the 
shams  don't  count — they  strike  your  sense  of  the  ridiculous  at  once.  But 
with  the  real  men  you  form  real  friendships.  You  come  to  believe  profoundly 
in  human  nature.  You  find  that  it  is  a  splendid  thing,  especially  among  the 
poor,  the  working  people.  After  the  associations  of  politics  the  associations 
of  so-called  'social  life'  have  no  attraction  for  you.  And  if  your  interest  in 
politics  is  impersonal,  as  mine  has  been ;  if  you  seek  no  office,  you  learn  to 
laugh  at  the  foibles  and  weaknesses.  You  become  an  optimist.  I  am  a 
profound  optimist." 

Perhaps  more  than  most  men  Gavin  McNab  has  been  the  master  of  his 
own  fate,  and  yet  he  simply  drifted  into  politics.  On  his  father's  sheep 
ranch  at  Largo  in  Mendocino  county — an  old  Spanish  grant  which  the 
McNab  brothers  have  preserved  intact  through  all  these  years — the  boy 
devoured  Stuart  Mill  and  Adam  Smith,  Gevons  and  Cairnes  and  Bastiat.  He 
had  a  district  school  "education"  and  a  passion  for  political  economy.  When 
he  came  to  this  city  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  he  brought  little  else  with 

185 


VARIED    TYPES 

him,  except  abstemious  habits — he  never  drinks  or  smokes — and  a  manful 
determination  to  get  ahead.  The  tariff  was  the  great  political  issue  of  the 
time  and  in  the  intervals  of  his  work  as  a  clerk  at  the  Occidental  Hotel  he 
wrote  articles  for  the  old  Alta.  The  articles  attracted  attention  and  he  was 
gradually  drawn  into  Democratic  politics.  He  made  the  acquaintance  of 
E.  B.  Pond  and  when  Pond  became  a  candidate  for  the  Democratic 
nomination  for  governor  McNab  went  to  the  convention  at  San  Jose  as  a 
Pond  man.  Pond  was  nominated  over  the  opposition  of  Chris  Buckley 
who,  however,  sold  out  his  strength  in  the  general  election  and  insured  the 
victory  of  Stanford.  Naturally  the  Pond  men  were  sore  and  with  McNab 
as  one  of  their  leaders  they  broke  Buckley's  strength  in  the  next  campaign. 

"When  I  slapped  the  idol  in  the  face,"  says  McNab,  "everybody  waited 
to  see  me  drop  dead.  I  didn't  drop  dead,  so  the  press  took  up  the  fight." 

The  Wallace  Grand  Jury  also  took  it  up  and  although  Buckley  and  Sam 
Rainey  won  two  elections  after  that,  the  shepherd  and  his  "lambs"  never 
regained  dominance.  The  victorious  insurgents  quarreled,  as  victorious 
insurgents  always  do,  but  McNab  maintained  his  leadership  campaign  after 
campaign  and  the  Democratic  organization  controlled  most  of  the  patronage 
offices  in  San  Francisco  until  Schmitz  was  elected  for  the  third  time  and 
swept  the  painteaters  with  him.  To  review  the  history  of  that  control  and 
McNab's  part  in  it  would  take  a  book.  McNab  summarizes  it  fairly  enough. 

"Sometimes  we  elected  pharisees  to  office,  but  never  a  crook.  And 
speaking  of  pharisees,  when  Taylor  was  elected  he  told  some  of  my  friends 
that  he  was  thinking  of  appointing  me  poundmaster.  I  sent  him  word  that 
he  wouldn't  dare  do  it  because  he  knew  that  I  would  shut  up  his  doggerel." 

McNab  had  studied  law  as  well  as  tariff  schedules  at  the  Occidental 
and  during  his  years  of  political  activity  he  gradually  built  up  a  fine  practice. 

"But  while  I  was  active  in  politics,"  he  says,  "I  never  took  a  case  for  a 
public  service  corporation." 

Even  now  he  doesn't  take  such  cases  within  this  city,  for  he  thinks  it 
would  be  ethically  incompatible  with  his  political  prominence.  But  he  has 
one  of  the  biggest  practices  in  the  State.  He  is  attorney  for  six  banks.  He 
represented  the  two  hundred  million  United  Properties  Company.  His  share 
in  the  winning  of  the  Baldwin  will  case  is  fresh  in  the  public  memory. 

He  is  a  hard  worker.  Some  people  think  he  never  plays.  About  once 
a  year  he  strolls  into  the  Pacific-Union  Club  and  usually  leaves  an  epigram 
or  two  behind  when  he  departs.  About  once  in  six  months  he  goes  to  the 
theatre.  For  physical  exercise  he  walks — in  the  woods  a  good  deal,  for  he 
loves  nature  and  is  an  expert  ornithologist.  Sometimes  he  unbends  his  wit 
in  postprandial  oratory  and  he  ranks  high  in  this  accomplishment. 

"Nature,  human  nature  and  books,"  is  the  way  he  sums  up  his  favorite 
recreations.  Undoubtedly  books  play  a  great  part  in  his  life.  A  larger  part 
perhaps  than  politics,  for  he  reads  everything  and  is  getting  more  and  more 
aloof  from  active  political  endeavor.  When  will  he  retire? 

"You  never  retire  from  politics,"  he  says.  "You  may  think  you  have 
retired,  but  let  a  friend  ask  for  assistance  and  your  coat  comes  off  and  you 
are  back  again  in  the  thick  of  it." 

186 


JOHN    L.  McNAB 


WENTY-THREE  years  ago,  when  he  had  turned  eighteen, 
John  L.  McNab  wrote  a  letter  from  the  family  sheep  ranch 
in  Mendocino  county  to  Brother  Gavin  in  San  Francisco. 
It  was  an  important  letter  because  it  carried  the  news  that 
John  had  made  up  his  mind  to  study  law.  In  due  course  of 
time  came  the  answering  letter  from  Gavin. 

"I  remember  the  wording  of  that  letter  as  well  as  if  I 
had  only  received  it  this  morning,"  says  John  L.  McNab  in 
telling  the  story. 

And  this  was  the  pith  of  what  the  experienced  Gavin  wrote  to  his  younger 
brother : 

"If  you  sit  down  at  home  with  an  unabridged  dictionary  at  your  elbow 
and  read  through  Blackstone's  Commentaries  twelve  times,  you'll  know  more 
law  than  any  lawyer  in  San  Francisco." 

As  a  comment  on  our  legal  giants  it  was  a  pretty  little  hit;  as  a  bit  of 
fraternal  advice  it  was  probably  not  intended  to  be  taken  too  literally.  But 
John  L.  McNab  has  more  of  the  family's  Scotch  matter-of-fact  than  of  the 
family's  Scotch  sense  of  humor.  He  took  Gavin's  advice  literally. 

"The  first  time  I  went  through  Blackstone,"  he  says,  "I  was  utterly 
discouraged  and  overwhelmed  by  the  mass  of  obsolete  phraseology.  I  came 
very  near  throwing  the  book  down  the  well.  Perhaps  an  innate  reverence 
for  all  books  prevented  me.  I  tackled  it  the  second  time.  When  I  had  once 
more  reached  'finis'  at  the  end  of  the  second  volume  I  began  to  see  a  faint 
glimmer  of  light.  I  went  at  it  again.  On  the  third  reading  the  full  significance 
of  the  book  began  to  dawn  on  me.  But  understanding  was  born  in  pain  and 
weariness.  However,  I  gritted  my  teeth  and  sailed  into  it  once  more.  At 
the  end  of  a  year  and  a  half  I  had  read  Blackstone  an  even  dozen  times." 

In  that  anecdote  you  may  find  the  key  to  John  L.  McNab's  success. 
Twenty-three  years  ago  he  was  already  cultivating  the  priceless  habit  of 
"keeping  everlastingly  at  it."  He  was  indefatigably  studious.  Weariness 
could  not  wear  him  down ;  no  overtraining  could  stale  his  intellectual  ardor. 
He  leaped  at  obstacles  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  hurdler;  the  difficulty  gave 
zest  to  the  contest.  And  in  that  respect  John  L.  McNab  is  the  same  today 
as  he  was  twenty-three  years  ago. 

The  elder  McNabs  came  from  Glasgow.  The  mother  had  the  culture  of 
splendid  education.  The  father  had  the  culture  that  comes  to  men  of  no 
schooling  from  a  passionate  delight  in  the  best  literature.  And  that,  by  the 
way,  is  a  culture  to  be  found  among  Scotch  and  Irish  poor  people  as  it  is 
found  nowhere  else  in  the  world.  The  Nile  street  photograph  gallery  where 
the  elder  McNab  made  the  pictures  of  Glasgow  folk  and  where  William 
Black,  the  novelist,  William  Caird,  the  great  pulpit  orator,  and  other  promi- 

187 


VARIED    TYPES 

nent  men  liked  to  while  away  an  hour  in  chat,  is  still  to  be  seen!  Ill  health 
came  to  McNab  and  he  resolved  to  cross  the  sea  and  find  new  life  in 
California.  He  bought  a  sheep  ranch  near  Ukiah,  a  ranch  of  seven  thousand 
acres  which  is  still  in  the  possession  of  the  family.  That  was  in  1871.  Two 
years  later  John  L.  McNab  was  born. 

"My  father,"  says  John  L.  McNab,  "brought  his  fine  library  across  the 
Isthmus  of  Panama.  It  covered  the  whole  field  of  English  literature,  but 
when  I  look  back  to  my  boyhood  days  and  recall  the  long  winter  nights  that 
we  boys  spent  before  the  fire  absorbed  in  reading,  the  books  I  think  of  first 
are  the  Waverley  Novels,  the  Tales  from  Blackwood,  Chamber's  Journal, 
Alison's  History  of  Europe,  Adam  Smith's  Wealth  of  Nations,  the  first 
edition  of  Burns,  Macaulay  and  Carlyle. 

"We  were  locked  away  in  the  loneliness  of  the  hills,  far  removed  from 
schools.  It  was  a  wild  country  in  those  days,  and  there  was  plenty  of 
ribaldry,  drinking,  gambling  and  lawless  dissipation.  My  mother  was  the 
strongest  and  most  beautiful  character  I  ever  knew  and  I  cannot  think  of 
her  now  without  tears  in  my  eyes.  It  was  clue  to  her  influence  that  we 
escaped  the  dangers  that  surrounded  us  in  that  primitive  society,  and  her 
influence  sent  us  to  good  books  and  filled  us  with  a  passion  for  knowledge. 

"My  brother  Gavin  too  was  a  strong  influence  in  my  early  life.  He 
taught  me  at  home  before  a  district  school  was  built  near  enough  for  me  to 
attend.  It  was  at  Largo  four  miles  away,  and  I  rode  the  eight  miles  on! 
horseback  during  the  summer  term.  In  winter  there  was  no  school,  but  our 
father  was  a  prosperous  farmer  and  could  afford  a  governess  who  was  also  a 
music  teacher  and  who  stayed  at  the  ranch  directing  our  education.  So 
winter  and  summer  our  education  went  on  under  regular  discipline. 

"In  that  first  flush  of  boyhood  I  turned  with  an  unappeasable  appetite  to 
history.  I  read  Green's  Longer  History  of  England  while  flat  on  my  back 
with  pneumonia.  It  made  me  hungry  for  more,  so  I  followed  with  Macaulay's 
History  of  England  and  Carlyle's  French  Revolution  and  Past  and  Present. 
After  that  I  was  launched  beyond  all  hope  of  recall.  Literature  formed  the 
staple  of  our  talk.  One  of  my  brothers  was  a  great  admirer  of  Hume ;  Gavin 
preferred  Gibbon  to  all  other  historians;  Macaulay  was  my  favorite.  And 
many  an  hour  we  spent  analyzing  their  work  and  comparing  their  styles  of 
composition.  It  was  a  life  to  which  I  look  back  with  the  liveliest  satisfaction." 

When  he  finished  at  the  district  school  John  L.  McNab  followed  the 
example  of  the  other  country  boys  around  him  by  going  to  business  college. 
He  attended  the  Pacific  Business  College  in  this  city,  returning  to  the  sheep 
ranch  in  the  Mendocino  hills  when  he  was  eighteen.  It  was  then  he  received 
that  letter  from  Gavin  which  started  him  on  the  conquest  of  the  law.  He 
had  no  instructor  in  law,  but  despite  this  handicap  he  was  ready  for  his 
examinations  before  he  had  reached  his  majority.  Immediately  after  his 
twenty-first  birthday  he  was  admitted  to  practice.  The  next  two  years  he 
spent  at  home  studying  history  and  political  economy.  Then  he  went  down 
to  Ukiah  and  nailed  up  his  shingle. 

"The  first  year  I  spent  like  Peter  Sterling  looking  through  a  knot  hole. 
I  earned  not  more  than  fifty  dollars.  But  I  took  every  case  that  came  along, 

188 


JOHN     L.     McNAB 


JOHN     L.     McNAB 

fee  or  no  fee,  and  several  times  I  was  appointed  by  the  court  in  cases  which 
afterwards  developed  local  importance. 

"One  day  at  the  end  of  the  first  year  there  was  a  rap  at  my  door,  and 
J.  E.  Cooper,  more  recently  presiding-  justice  of  the  Appellate  Court,  walked 
in.  He  told  me  he  was  about  to  leave  Ukiah,  that  he  had  received  many 
offers  for  his  practice,  but  that  he  preferred  to  keep  it  intact.  So  would  I 
consider  forming  a  partnership  with  his  confidential  clerk  Maurice  Hirsch? 
I  nearly  fell  off  my  chair  into  the  fireplace.  Hirsch  and  I  continued  as 
partners  until  May,  1911,  when  I  made  a  new  start  in  San  Francisco." 

Meanwhile  John  L.  McNab  had  entered  politics.  When  he  was  twenty- 
one  he  ran  for  the  Assembly  against  John  Sanford  and  was  badly  beaten. 

"I  credit  whatever  success  I  have  achieved  to  that  defeat,"  he  says.  "Had 
I  won  I  should  have  become  a  politician.  I  lost  and  tried  to  become  a  man." 

McNab  was  never  again  a  candidate  for  office,  but  he  didn't  keep  out  of 
politics.  He  was  a  delegate  to  the  State  convention  which  witnessed  the 
three-cornered  fight  between  Pardee,  Gage  and  Flint.  But  he  was  a  humble 
delegate  who  never  got  the  eye  of  the  chairman.  At  the  next  State  con- 
vention, the  never-to-be-forgotten  convention  at  Santa  Cruz,  he  burst  forth 
as  a  Republican  spellbinder.  Abe  Ruef  had  a  candidate  for  Clerk  of  the 
Supreme  Court,  one  Cory,  and  tried  to  stampede  the  convention  for  him. 
McNab  nominated  Frank  L.  Caughey.  It  was  Pardee,  I  think,  who  spoke 
of  the  Santa  Cruz  convention  tent  "with  the  Southern  Pacific  on  one  side 
and  the  broad  Pacific  on  the  other."  At  any  rate  trains  were  thundering 
and  the  surf  was  beating  outside  the  canvas,  and  it  was  hard  to  hear  the 
ordinary  speaker.  But  when  John  L.  McNab  let  out  that  stentorian  voice  of 
his  every  delegate  sat  up  and  took  notice.  His  speech  is  still  remembered. 
It  won  for  Caughey  and  gave  John  L.  McNab  a  standing  in  the  councils  of 
his  party,  a  standing  which  he  has  not  only  maintained  but  improved. 

His  appointment  to  the  office  of  United  States  District  Attorney  for  San 
Francisco  was  a  fitting  reward  for  his  unremitting  labors  in  the  cause  of 
Republicanism.  How  vigorously  he  administered  that  office  is  well  known  to 
all  his  townsmen.  And  his  disagreement  with  Attorney  General  McReynolds 
over  the  handling  of  the  Western  Fuel  prosecutions  is  vividly  remembered. 
His  resignation  rocked  the  Democratic  Cabinet.  Immediately  his  admirers 
began  pointing  out  what  an  admirable  candidate  for  Governor  he  would  be. 
It  was  very  complimentary,  but  John  L.  McNab  shook  his  head.  Perhaps 
we  shall  hear  more  of  that  later. 

Of  his  manner  of  quitting  the  office  of  United  States  District  Attorney  he 
had  little  to  say.  "Any  human  being  with  iron  in  his  blood  would  do  as  I 
did,"  he  remarks.  "I  am  not  entitled  to  credit.  I  trust  that  I  have  not  an 
exaggerated  idea  of  my  own  ego.  It  may  have  required  spunk,  but  there 
was  no  call  for  moral  courage." 

He  is  beloved  of  his  office  force.  He  went  into  the  federal  building  at 
liberty  to  choose  his  own  deputies,  but  preferred  to  accept  the  men  Devlin  had 
left  behind,  asking  only  that  they  show  efficiency.  His  record  speaks  for 
itself.  And  on  the  day  he  resigned  a  court  bailiff  leaned  against  the  door  of 
his  office  and  cried. 

191 


JOAQUIN  MILLER 


SAY,  CHARLIE! 

Say,  Charlie,  our  Charlie,  say — 

What  of  the  night?     Aloha!     Hail! 
What  roomful  sea?     What  restful  sail? 

Where  tent  you,  Bedouin,  today? 

Oh,  generous  green  leaves  of  our  tree, 
What  fruitful  first  young  buoyant  year! 
But  bleak  winds  blow,  the  leaves  are  sere, 

And  listless  rustle — two  or  three. 

Say,    Charlie,   where   is   Bret?   and    Twain? 
Shy  Prentice,  and  the  former  fezvf 
You  spoke,  and  spake  as  one  who  knew — 

Now,  Charlie,  speak  us  once  again. 

The  night-wolf  prowls;  we  guess,  we  grope, 
But  day  is  night,  and  night  despair, 
And  doubt  seems  some  unuttered  prayer, 

And  hope  seems  hoping  against  hope. 

But  Charlie,  you  had  faith,  and  you — 
Gentlest  of  all  God's  gentlemen — 
You  said  you  knew,  and  surely  knew — 

Now  speak,  and  speak  as  spake  you  then. 


HAD  ventured  to  tell  the  Poet  of  the  Sierras  that  this  gem, 
written  when  he  was  face  to  face  with  death  in  1911  and 
published  for  the  first  time  in  the  Sunset  of  April,  1912, 
through  the  kindly  offices  of  Miss  Ina  Coolbrith,  appealed 
to  me  more  strongly  than  any  other  of  his  poems  with  the 
possible  exception  of  "Columbus."  He  was  pleased  but 
deprecatory. 

"  'Columbus'  is  too  much  of  a  chorus,"  he  said.     "And 

'Say,  Charlie !'  is  not  a  poem  particularly.    They  are  dear  little  bits  of  things 

from  the  heart. 

"Charlie  Stoddard  had  the    sweet    faith    of    a    child.     We    were    much 

together,  and  we  discussed  religion  a  great  deal.    We  lived  in  Rome  together, 

192 


JOAQUIN     MILLER 


JOAQUIN     MILLER 

studying  art  and  literature  and  religion,  but  he  never  debated  it,  he  was  so 
certain.  He  was  very  dogmatic.  And  what  a  lovable  man!  He  was  with 
Twain  at  the  end.  Mark  wouldn't  let  him  go. 

"I  have  Charlie's  faith,  but  not  his  certainty.  I  have  thought  at  times 
of  embracing  a  religious  creed,  but  I  am  certain  now  that  I  shall  never  do 
so.  There  is  too  much  wrangling  among  them. 

"I  believe  that  I  shall  begin  the  next  life  exactly  where  I  leave  off  in 
this.  If  I'm  a  good  man  in  this  life  I  shall  be  good  to  begin  with  in  the 
next.  If  I'm  bad,  treacherous,  deceitful  in  this,  I  shall  have  all  that  to 
overcome  in  the  next. 

"I  don't  believe  that  there  is  any  returning  here.  What  are  all  the 
stars  built  for?  I  believe  the  soul  can  go  as  the  mind  does,  on  and  on.  In 
the  universe  there  is  infinite  space.  It  seems  unoccupied.  What  is  it  for? 
Nature  wastes  nothing,  not  a  moment  of  time,  not  a  spot  of  ground  as  small 
as  your  hand.  What  is  nature  to  do  with  all  this  space?  It  can't  be  wasted. 
That  would  not  be  business." 

The  poet  who  was  lying  in  bed  turned  on  his  elbow  and  spoke  to  his 
daughter. 

"Baby,"  he  said,  "get  me  that  poem  on  immortality  I  have  just  written. 
It  will  help  this  young  man  to  understand  what  I  mean." 

"Yes,  papa,"  said  Juanita  Miller,  and  brought  me  this: 

TO  TEACH  IMMORTALITY 

What  if  we  all  lay  dead  below; 

Lay  as  the  grass  lies,  cold  and  dead 
In  God's  own  holy  shroud  of  snow, 

With   snow-white  stones  at   foot  and  head, 
With  all  earth  dead  and  shrouded  white 
As  clouds  that  cross  the  moon  at  night? 

What  if  that  infidel  some  night 

Could  then  rise  up  and  see  how  dead, 
How  wholly  dead  and  out  of  sight 

All  things  with  snow  sown  foot  and  head 
And  lost  winds  wailing  up  and  down 
The  emptied  fields  and  emptied  town? 

I  think  that  grand  old  infidel 

Would  rub  his  hands  with  fiendish  glee, 
And  say:    "I  knew  it,  knew  it  well! 

I  knew  that  death  was  destiny; 
I  ate,   I   drank,   I  mocked  at  God, 
Then  as  the  grass  was  and  the  sod." 

Ah  me,  the  grasses  and  the  sod, 
They  are  my  preachers.     Hear  them  preach 

When  they  forget  the  shroud,  and  God 
Lifts  up  these  blades  of  grass  to  teach 

The   resurrection!     Who   shall   say 

What  infidel  can  speak  as  they? 

195 


JOAQUIN     MILLER 

"I  have  no  doubt  at  all  about  immortality,"  Joaquin  Miller  continued; 
"not  the  slightest.  But  lots  of  us  are  not  worth  saving.  We  are  so  loaded 
with  sin  that  we  won't  rise  at  all,  but  will  sink  utterly.  Rewards  and  punish- 
ments, though,  I  don't  believe  in,  no  further,  at  least,  than  we  do  harm  to 
our  own  souls.  If  we're  bad,  we  wake  up  bad;  if  good,  we  wake  up  good. 
But  there  is  no  judgment.  We  judge  ourselves  and  seek  our  places  by  a 
law  of  gravitation,  going  just  where  we  belong." 

Mrs.  Miller  was  sitting  near  by,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  volume  of 
her  husband's  poems. 

"Father's  poems  are  full  of  his  religious  belief,"  she  said.  "Take  this 
from  his  'Song  of  the  South.' " 

And  she  read : 

What  is  this  rest  of  death,  sweet  friend, 
What  is  the  rising  up,  and  where? 
I  say,  death  is  a  lengthened  prayer, 
A  longer  night,  a  larger  end. 

"Stop  it!"  the  poet  commanded.  "Don't  do  it!  This  young  man  did  not 
come  here  to  be  inflicted  with  my  poetry." 

"Such  a  belief  as  Charlie  Stoddard's,"  the  poet  went  on,  "is  an  advan- 
tage to  the  man  who  has  it.  He  never  wastes  any  time  doubting.  He  is 
certainly  happier  than  the  man  who  doubts,  and  being  happier  he  is  naturally 
better.  Stoddard  thought  he  was  melancholy.  He  thought  he  had  what 
Byron  calls  the  glance  of  melancholy.  But  he  was  the  happiest  man  I  ever 
saw,  and  he  was  fortunate  in  his  friends. 

"Prentice  Mulford  who  is  mentioned  in  'Say,  Charlie !'  was  one  of  the 
gentlest  of  men.  He  was  more  like  Charlie  than  any  other  man  I  knew,  but 
more  helpless.  I  didn't  know  Harte  or  Twain  intimately.  Twain  I  knew 
of  course,  but  he  was  always  Twain.  Harte  too  I  knew  better  than  most 
men  did.  But  they  believed  in  themselves  more  than  anything  else.  They 
didn't  see  beyond  themselves  particularly. 

"I  have  never  read  books  of  religion.  Glance  about  you.  Do  you  see 
any  book  here?  There  is  only  a  dictionary  and  it  has  been  here  only  a  short 
time.  No,  I  don't  read  religion.  I  live  it  in  the  woods,  among  the  trees. 

"There  is  a  deep  interest  in  religion  among  the  men  of  today.  That's 
the  only  sign  of  the  times  I  see  that  is  good.  People  don't  want  funny  things 
in  poetry;  they  want  to  know  about  the  future.  Nearly  everything  I  write 
upon  the  subject  finds  an  echo.  People  write  to  thank  me.  They  say  this  or 
that  poem  of  mine  has  given  them  faith." 

"You  know  those  lines  in  'Adios,'  "  said  Mrs.  Miller.    And  again  she  read : 


196 


JOAQUIN     MILLER 

Could   I   but  teach   men   to  believe — 
Could  I  but  make  small  men  to  grow, 
To  break  frail  spider-webs  that  weave 
About  their  thews  and  bind  them   low; 
Could  I  but  sing  one  song  and  slay 
Grim  Doubt;  I  then  could  go  my  way 
In  tranquil  silence,  glad,   serene, 
And  satisfied,  from  off  the  scene. 
But  ah,  this  disbelief,  this  doubt, 
This  doubt  of   God,  this   doubt   of  good, — 
The  damned  spot  will  not  out! 

"Stop  it!"  again  entreated  the  poet.    "I  don't  like  it." 

"People  are  tired  of  the  quarreling  priests  and  preachers,"  he  continued. 
"They  avoid  going  to  church  because  the  preachers  dictate  to  them.  They 
talk,  they  dogmatize,  and  people  don't  want  it.  They  want  the  preachers  to 
go  to  work,  but  the  preachers  are  fat  and  lazy.  They  won't  work.  Why  don't 
they  plant  trees  like  I  do?" 

Mrs.  Miller  wanted  to  illustrate  again  from  the  volume  of  poems,  but 
Joaquin  wouldn't  have  it. 

"I  don't  care  to  talk  about  my  poems,"  he  said.  "As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  haven't  written  my  great  poem  yet.  I'm  getting  ready  for  it  all  the  time. 
I  feel  like  old  Jacob ;  few  and  evil  have  been  my  days." 

But  the  poet  was  quite  willing  to  talk  of  other  poets. 

"Like  Greece,  California  is  to  be  a  great  place  for  poets,"  he  said, 
"although  I  shall  not  live  to  see  it.  The  great  poets  will  hover  about  our 
snow  peaks  and  sea  and  sunshine. 

"There  is  that  new  man  Alexander.  There  is  a  quality  about  his  poetry. 
He's  prime,  but  not  young.  Christian  Binckley  wrote  the  only  sonnets  I  ever 
liked.  Sterling  is  a  star,  the  starriest  of  all  stars.  Scheffauer  is  industrious, 
honest.  But  great?  I  don't  know.  Sterling  says  he's  great,  and  Sterling 
knows  him  better  than  I  do. 

"Robeson  Taylor  I  don't  like.  He  has  had  time  enough  to  do  something, 
and  hasn't  done  it.  He's  a  handsome  manly  fellow,  but  in  love  with  himself 
rather  than  with  the  Muse.  A  great  poet  must  be  greater  than  himself;  he 
must  forget  himself. 

"Stoddard  should  have  written  more  poetry,  but  he  told  me  he  thought 
the  period  of  poetry  was  gone.  A  great  poet?  Well,  we  judge  the  tree  by 
its  fruit.  He  didn't  bear  great  fruit ;  it  was  sweet,  delicious.  He  was  a  true, 
not  a  great  poet. 

"Ina  Coolbrith  I  regard  daintily.  She  is  thoroughly  genuine.  She  wrote 
her  poem  on  her  feet,  in  her  garden,  on  the  street.  When  it  was  done  she 
went  and  wrote  it  down.  She  is  quite  different  from  most  people  who  sit 
down  and  write.  I  lie  and  think  my  poems  out.  I  never  had  a  writing  desk." 

Mrs.  Miller  accompanied  me  when  I  had  shaken  the  old  poet's  hand  and 
said  good-bye.  "Father's  poems  are  full  of  religion,"  she  said. 

Standing  on  The  Hights  amid  the  trees  which  Joaquin  had  planted  she 
recited  to  me,  fearing  no  interruption,  the  beautiful  poem  of  "Charity."  And 
that  ended  what  Joaquin  had  smilingly  called  our  "Sunday  sermon." 

197 


CHARLES  C.  MOORE 


Ah  "T  TT  T  A£ 

W| 

r U'^  —  — ..  M  '« 


HEN  TWO  MEN  ride  on  one  horse,"  says  Charles  C.  Moore, 
"one  of  them  must  sit  in  front  and  hold  the  reins." 

Which,  being  interpreted,  explains  satisfactorily  to  the 
mind  of  Charles  C.  Moore  the  action  of  our  World's  Fair 
directors  in  selecting  him  as  their  president. 

Moore  is  a  modest  man.  Among  the  men  of  eminent 
and  acclaimed  ability  whom  it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to 
meet  I  doubt  whether  I  have  ever  known  one  so  sincerely 
modest.  Perhaps  'modest'  may  seem  a  peculiar  adjective  to  apply  to  a  man 
in  public  life,  but  that  is  because  in  the  push  of  public  life  too  many  men  lose 
their  heads  and  forget  their  sensible  ideas  of  comparative  values.  But  as 
Moore  has  been  drawn  rather  unwillingly  into  the  hurly-burly  he  has  been 
able  to  avoid  this  loss  and  remain  modest.  Not  that  Moore  is  a  humble 
man.  There  is  always  a  point  where  modesty  degenerates  into  humility. 
(I  say  'degenerates'  advisedly,  for  there  is  only  one  sort  of  humility,  the 
religious  sort  with  which  we  are  not  concerned,  which  can  be  regarded  as  a 
virtue.)  Certainly  Moore's  modesty  has  never  reached  and  never  will  reach 
that  point.  He  is  not  oppressed,  as  weak  men  sometimes  are,  with  the  sense 
of  their  own  unworthiness.  But  he  is  strong  in  the  modesty  which  places 
a  just,  a  conservative  valuation  on  personal  worth  the  while  it  expends  its 
energies  in  hearty  appreciation  of  the  good  qualities  belonging  to  the  other 
fellow. 

And  so  it  is  that  while  Moore,  to  use  his  own  figure,  has  been  chosen 
to  hold  the  reins,  he  does  not  therefore  conclude  that  he  is  a  better  horseman 
than  the  rest.  He  sincerely  thinks  that  a  man  may  be  chosen  to  hold  the 
reins  because  others  are  better  equipped  for  more  important  though  less 
showy  services.  And  he  is  prepared  with  equal  sincerity  to  admit  that  the 
man  who  is  allowed  to  hold  the  reins  may  learn  many  valuable  points  of 
horsemanship  from  the  men  who  help  him  into  the  saddle.  And  if  that  isn't 
modesty,  what  is  it? 

When  you  talk  to  Moore  about  the  World's  Fair  you  are  not  allowed  to 
overlook  the  capabilities  of  the  men  with  whom  he  is  associated.  He  thinks 
that  no  body  of  World's  Fair  directors  was  ever  superior  to  the  San  Francisco 
body.  He  doubts  whether  as  representative  a  body  could  be  gathered 
together  in  New  York.  He  is  quite  certain  that  the  average  of  ability  is 
higher  in  San  Francisco  than  it  was  in  Chicago  in  1892.  He  finds  inspiration 
in  his  association  with  these  men.  And  he  is  so  eloquent  when  discussing 
their  various  fitnesses  for  the  tremendous  task  they  have  in  hand  that  he 
has  no  difficulty  in  communicating  his  enthusiasm.  To  talk  with  Moore 
about  the  World's  Fair  directors  is  to  realize  that  our  plans  for  entertaining 
the  world  are  being  shaped  by  master  hands;  is  to  be  settled  in  the  conviction 

198 


CHARLES     C.     MOORE 


CHARLES     C.     MOORE 

that  San  Francisco  has  a  body  of  men  who  are  devoting  themselves 
unselfishly,  untiringly  and  at  no  small  personal  sacrifice,  to  the  service  of 
California;  is  to  get  on  the  trail,  perhaps  after  many  years  of  hoping  and 
trying,  of  that  elusive,  that  too  often  illusory  thing  called  public  spirit. 

Moore  told  me  of  a  characteristic  incident  which  bears  this  out.  One 
of  the  World's  Fair  committees  was  to  meet  and  it  happened  that  two  of 
the  members  were  separated  by  the  bitterness  of  that  internecine  strife  which 
has  for  so  long  been  the  ordinary  condition  of  San  Francisco  life.  One  of 
these  men  swore  by  all  that  was  forcible  that  he  would  not  sit  down  in 
committee  meeting  with  the  other.  Moore  did  the  best  he  could  to  prepare 
the  way  for  a  reconciliation,  but  he  hadn't  a  great  deal  of  confidence  in  his 
diplomacy,  for  the  case  was  an  extreme  one.  And  yet  when  that  committee 
met,  the  two  men  shook  hands;  when  the  committee  sat  down  the  two  men 
sat  down  side  by  side. 

"That's  the  spirit  in  which  everybody  is  working,"  Moore  explains. 

There  is  one  point,  naturally,  on  which  it  is  useless  to  seek  enlightenment 
from  Moore.  How  much  of  this  esprit  de  corps  is  due  to  Moore's  personality? 
The  directors  of  the  World's  Fair  do  not  constitute  a  mutual  admiration 
society.  Far  from  it.  They  are  nearly  all  hard-headed  business  men  who 
have  no  time  to  decorate  one  another  with  posies.  Yet  those  with  whom 
I  have  held  conversation  are  free  in  their  praise  of  Charles  C.  Moore.  They 
were  not  conferring  an  empty  honor  when  they  chose  him  president.  They 
had  been  studying  him  ever  since  the  fire. 

Previous  to  the  fire  Moore  had  devoted  himself  almost  exclusively  to 
his  private  affairs.  His  affairs  had  prospered.  His  was  one  of  the  great 
engineering  concerns  of  the  West.  Equipped  with  the  knowledge  of 
engineering  imparted  in  the  curriculum  of  St.  Augustine's  at  Benicia  where 
he  was  educated,  he  had  come  to  this  city  as  a  youth  and  obtained  a  position 
with  the  San  Francisco  Tool  Works.  In  time  he  bought  out  that  concern 
and  thenceforward  his  rise  was  rapid.  He  extended  the  field  of  his  operations 
till  he  had  offices  in  Vancouver,  Seattle,  Portland,  Salt  Lake  and  Los 
Angeles.  He  built  some  of  the  biggest  power  plants  of  the  Coast.  All  the 
world  of  engineering  knows  how  he  put  up  the  great  power  plant  at  Redondo 
under  the  terms  of  a  guaranty  from  which  most  engineers  would  have 
shrunk  and  earned  a  bonus  of  $365,000,  the  largest  bonus  ever  paid.  When 
the  fire  came  Moore  was  not  as  hard  hit  as  many  other  men  of  big  business. 
So  he  had  time  to  think  for  others.  Our  business  relations  with  Nevada  were 
not  what  they  should  have  been,  so  he  induced  Henry  T.  Scott,  R.  P. 
Schwerin  and  Mark  Gerstle  to  accompany  him  on  a  missionary  trip  to  that 
State.  The  mission  was  successful  and  a  new  era,  an  era  of  what  might 
be  called  organized  good  feeling,  dawned  for  San  Francisco  business.  Moore 
was  elected  president  of  the  moribund  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  started 
that  series  of  junkets  through  the  State  which  has  been  of  inestimable 
benefit  in  drawing  the  business  men  of  the  interior  close  to  the  business 
men  of  San  Francisco.  The  Chamber  of  Commerce  was  revivified  and  has 
been  a  potent  factor  for  good  ever  since. 

The  men  who  went  on  one  of  those  excursions  will  tell  you  a  typical 

201 


VARIED    TYPES 

instance  of  Moore's  modesty.  In  appreciation  of  his  hard  work  to  make  the 
excursion  a  success  the  members  of  the  Chamber  made  up  a  purse  of  $500, 
intending  to  buy  him  a  token  of  their  regard.  But  when  Moore  heard  of 
this  he  put  his  foot  down.  Perhaps  he  saw  dangerous  possibilities  in  their 
kindly  intent.  Perhaps  he  felt  that  there  might  be  jealousy.  Or  that  his 
subsequent  activities  might  be  set  down  to  the  lively  expectation  of  similar 
rewards.  Or  it  may  have  been  his  modesty.  (One  of  the  most  charming 
things  about  modesty  is  that  it  endows  a  man  with  a  superior  kind  of 
diplomacy.)  At  any  rate,  Moore  refused  to  accept  a  gift.  He  suggested 
that  he  be  allowed  to  add  his  subscription  to  the  fund  and  that  the  sum  be 
expended  for  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  in  a  lasting  memorial  of  the  pleasant 
excursion.  So  the  Chamber  acquired  a  splendid  relief  map  of  the  Panama 
Canal.  And  if  any  of  the  men  who  didn't  know  Moore  well  had  suspected 
him  of  a  desire  for  personal  aggrandizement,  they  changed  their  minds. 

When  the  good  fellows  of  the  town  got  together  to  plan  the  first  Portola 
celebration,  they  selected  Moore  for  the  most  audacious  work  of  the  whole 
affair — to  enlist  the  co-operation  of  foreign  governments.  Our  government 
refused  to  recommend  the  project  to  European  powers.  But  the  Portola 
committee  wanted  to  have  the  flags  of  all  nations  flying  from  battleships 
in  the  bay  and  Moore  went  abroad  to  do  what  he  could.  He  was  told  that 
the  project  was  without  precedent;  that  such  requests  were  continually 
coming  from  all  sorts  of  local  celebration  committees  and  were  automatically 
refused.  In  London  Ambassador  Reid  confessed  that  the  case  was  hopeless. 
Three  times  the  ambassador  made  formal  request  on  behalf  of  Moore  for  a 
conference  with  Reginald  McKenna,  the  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  but 
without  success.  Finally,  when  the  case  looked  desperate,  the  hearing  was 
obtained  through  the  influence  of  Balfour,  Guthrie  and  Company.  The 
result  was  that  three  British  battleships  honored  the  Portola  celebration. 
If  the  Clemenceau  ministry  hadn't  fallen  in  France  he  would  have  been 
equally  successful  in  Paris.  But  we  know  that  Italy,  Holland  and  other 
powers  were  represented  and  that  this  international  recognition  made  the 
Portola  a  glorious  success  beyond  our  wildest  dreams. 

"It  was  sentiment  that  did  it,"  says  Moore;  "sentiment  for  a  city  that 
could  so  quickly  rehabilitate  itself.  And  it  is  the  same  sentiment  which  is 
going  to  play  an  important  part  in  making  our  World's  Fair  a  success." 

As  I  have  said,  the  public-spirited  men  of  this  city  had  been  studying 
Moore  ever  since  the  fire.  They  knew  he  was  disinterested.  They  knew 
that  his  capacity  for  service  was  unburdened  by  political  ambition.  So  they 
drafted  him  for  service  as  president  of  the  World's  Fair  corporation. 
Drafted  is  the  word.  He  didn't  want  to  serve  in  that  position.  He  was 
eager  to  continue  in  the  work  in  a  subordinate  place.  At  first  he  refused 
to  accept.  But  the  directors  knew  what  they  wanted.  The  very  fact  that 
he  was  averse  from  stepping  into  the  limelight  proved  him  the  man  about 
whom  all  could  rally.  They  needed  his  tact,  his  good  humor,  his  abounding 
enthusiasm,  his  personal  magnetism,  his  inexhaustible  capacity  for  apprecia- 
tion. In  the  end  they  got  him.  And  so  far  there  hasn't  been  a  murmur  of 
disappointment. 

202 


CHARLES     C.     MOORE 

Moore  isn't  any  too  strong  physically,  but  he  is  working  hard.  He 
knows  how  to  conserve  his  energy.  Every  Friday  night  he  escapes  to  his 
beautiful  place  at  Santa  Cruz.  He  sails  his  yacht  and  plays  golf  and  forgets 
all  kinds  of  business — except  farming. 

"I  want  to  be  a  farmer,"  he  says.  "I  am  prouder  of  the  little  I  make 
out  of  my  orchard  than  of  all  the  money  I  make  from  my  business.  The 
greatest  ambition  of  my  life  is  to  raise  the  best  artichokes  in  the  State." 

And  when  Charles  C.  Moore  says  that  his  brows  lower  whimsically  and 
that  winning  smile  of  his  beams  from  his  clear  blue  eyes  and  plays  about 
his  lips.  One  can  fancy  Diocletian  smiling  just  like  that  when  they  tried 
to  lure  him  from  his  Illyrian  cabbages. 


203 


RICHARD  E.  MULCAHY 


ERE  is  a  man  who  has  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  finance,  a 
specialist  trained  to  take  the  temperature  of  money.  And  he 
says  we  are  on  the  eve  of  prosperity.  It  is  a  cheering  message. 
It  is  an  optimistic  message  from  one  not  constitutionally 
enthusiastic,  all  the  ways  of  whose  business  life  make  for  a 
cold-blooded  conservatism.  It  is  therefore  an  important 
message,  a  message  we  may  hearken  to  without  feeling,  as 
we  too  often  feel  when  such  a  pronouncement  is  made,  that 
it  comes  from  the  herald  of  a  fool's  paradise. 

Richard  E.  Mulcahy  of  the  House  of  Hutton  knows.  It  is  his  bread  and 
butter  to  know.  Ask  his  clients  if  he  be  not  a  safe  guide  through  the  mazes 
of  the  stock  market,  and  by  their  reply  judge  the  value  of  what  follows. 

All  his  business  life  Richard  E.  Mulcahy  has  sensed  responsibility,  has 
known  the  danger  of  idle  words.  He  began  at  the  age  of  twelve  as  a  tele- 
graph operator  in  a  railway  office.  That  was  in  Michigan,  on  a  road  since 
absorbed  by  the  Big  Four.  At  twenty  he  was  train  despatcher;  at  twenty- 
one,  superintendent  of  telegraph.  Then  he  rose  to  be  master  of  transporta- 
tion. A  little  later  as  superintendent  of  construction  he  built  many  hundreds 
of  miles  of  the  Chicago,  Milwaukee  and  St.  Paul.  For  a  time  after  that  he 
was  on  on  the  Chicago  Board  of  Trade.  He  returned  to  railroading  as  gen- 
eral superintendent  of  the  Chicago,  Milwaukee  and  St.  Paul.  Twenty-eight 
years  ago  he  went  into  the  brokerage  business.  Today  he  is  a  partner  in  the 
big  firm  of  E.  F.  Hutton  and  Co.  with  membership  in  the  New  York  Stock, 
Cotton  and  Coffee  Exchanges  and  the  Chicago  Board  of  Trade. 

Mulcahy  looks  back  with  affection  to  those  old  days  at  the  telegraph 
key.  He  was  an  expert.  He  made  the  record  for  fast  sending  out  of  De- 
troit on  the  occasion  of  President  Hayes'  first  message  to  Congress,  clicking 
off  forty-six  words  a  minute,  and  they  weren't  code  words  either.  That 
record  held  for  a  good  many  years. 

"Telegraphing  was  an  art  in  those  days,"  he  says.  "You  had  to  be  a 
good  sender,  a  good  receiver  and  a  good  writer  of  long  hand.  It  was  before 
the  day  of  the  typewriter." 

If  you  know  the  typical  long  hand  of  the  old  telegrapher  with  its  swing- 
ing script  and  its  words  hooked  together,  you  will  recognize  it  today  in 
Mulcahy's  handwriting. 

But  it  is  in  Mulcahy  as  the  announcer  of  imminent  prosperity  that  we 
are  interested  just  now.  Study  his  tabulation  as  he  talks  it  off  with  the 
rapidity  of  a  stock  ticker : 

"There  is  for  instance  the  mining  boom.  Rich  ore  has  been  discovered 
of  late  in  some  of  the  Goldfield  mines.  Thi?  is  a  great  thing  for  this  section 
of  the  country.  The  money  made  in  Nevada  is  spent  in  California.  And  the 

204 


RICHARD     E.     MULCAHY 


RICHARD     E.     MULCAHY 

boom  brings  new  investments  from  the  East.  Eighty  per  cent  of  the  mining 
investors  today  are  from  the  East.  New  York,  Philadelphia  and  Boston  are 
as  familiar  now  with  mining  interests  as  this  country  used  to  be  in  the  old 
days. 

"The  general  condition  of  the  country  west  of  the  Rockies  couldn't  be 
better.  We  have  grown  the  largest  crops  ever  harvested  in  our  history.  Take 
barley.  The  new  money  for  barley  coming  to  California  this  year  from 
Europe  and  the  East  is  about  twelve  millions.  We  produce  from  the  soil  of 
California  about  six  hundred  million  dollars  worth  of  products  every  year. 
This  year  they  will  total  six  hundred  and  fifty  millions.  There  are  abundant 
crops  of  all  kinds.  This  means  for  us  about  four  hundred  millions  of  new 
money  from  other  States  and  from  Europe. 

"There  is  a  better  feeling  generally.  People  who  have  been  in  the  dumps 
are  now  seeing  daylight. 

"Our  gas  and  electric  securities  have  all  had  a  big  advance  in  the  last 
thirty  days.  Corporations  which  have  been  undergoing  readjustment  are  now 
in  a  more  favorable  condition  than  they  have  been  for  some  time.  This  re- 
adjustment was  a  condition  San  Francisco  had  to  meet.  Order  is  now  being 
brought  out  of  disturbance. 

"One  thing  San  Francisco  is  much  in  need  of  is  better  docking  facilities. 
At  the  present  time  there  are  18,000  bales  of  cotton  around  the  bay  awaiting 
shipment  to  Japan  and  China.  Twice  as  much  in  transit  between  Texas  and 
California  is  being  sidetracked  and  stored  till  vessel  room  and  dockage  can 
be  secured. 

"I  have  never  seen  fundamental  conditions  better  on  this  coast  than  at 
the  present  time. 

"The  Panama  Canal  has  caused  very  little  excitement,  owing  largely  to 
war  conditions,  but  when  one  realizes  the  difference  in  profit  to  producers  on 
the  Pacific  Coast  made  by  canal  rates  as  opposed  to  rates  around  the  Horn, 
one  appreciates  what  the  canal  means  for  us.  On  grain  of  all  kinds  the 
Pacific  Coast  producer  is  receiving  from  three  to  five  dollars  a  ton  more  than 
before  the  canal  opened. 

"Banking  conditions  throughout  the  entire  Pacific  Coast  are  probably 
the  best  in  our  history.  As  soon  as  confidence  becomes  a  little  stronger 
conditions  are  sure  to  improve  by  leaps  and  bounds.  The  immense  prices 
received  for  farm  products  this  past  crop  year  mean  that  the  farmers  will  be 
enabled  to  lighten  their  obligations  with  the  banks  and  put  in  circulation  for 
commercial  purposes  the  many  millions  they  will  spend  for  farm  improve- 
ments. 

"The  railroads  are  not  in  as  good  a  position  as  they  were  before  the 
Panama  Canal  was  opened.  It  will  take  time  and  a  great  deal  of  readjustment 
of  traffic  and  conditions  before  the  railroads  are  able  to  compare  their  earn- 
ings with  their  earnings  in  the  past.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  public  sentiment 
will  lean  more  favorably  toward  the  railroad  interests  than  heretofore.  It  is 
a  well  established  fact  that  when  the  railroads  and  other  big  interests  make 
money,  the  laboring  man  and  everyone  who  depends  on  his  earnings  for  a 
livelihood  enjoys  prosperity  and  good  spirits.  You  can't  kill  off  the  big  in- 

207 


VARIED     TYPES 

terests  without  starving  the  laboring  man.  The  big  interests  do  not  go  into 
new  enterprises  because  they  need  money,  but  simply  because  they  want  to 
continue  in  active  life  and  are  willing  to  place  their  funds  where  they  are  able 
to  earn  a  fair  rate  of  interest.  These  men  of  industry  never  carry  their  money 
with  them  when  they  leave  the  world.  It  is  distributed  and  helps  all  walks 
of  life. 

"It  is  quite  noticeable  that  public  sentiment  is  growing  more  humane. 
Take  the  exchanges  of  the  country.  Before  an  object  lesson  was  given  the 
public  it  demanded  all  kinds  of  restrictions  on  securities  and  farm  products 
exchanges.  When  the  war  came  along  these  exchanges  were  the  safety  valve 
that  saved  us  from  what  would  have  been"  the  greatest  panic  the  world  has 
ever  known.  Few  people  realize  the  true  benefit  the  exchanges  have  been  to 
all  commercial  interests.  The  Stock  Exchange,  the  Cotton  Exchange,  the 
Grain  Exchange  are  arteries  of  commerce  as  essential  as  the  arteries  of  the 
body.  I  believe  that  the  object  lesson  given  during  the  past  four  months  has 
changed  many  people,  induced  them  to  advocate  the  continuance  of  these 
different  exchanges. 

"I  look  for  a  general  improvement  of  business  starting  soon  after  the 
first  of  the  year  1915.  I  believe  we  will  see  the  greatest  prosperity  during 
the  next  few  years  to  come  that  these  United  States  have  ever  seen. 

"We  receive  from  foreign  nations  two  and  one-half  to  three  billion  dollars 
annually  for  foodstuffs,  manufactured  goods  and  other  products.  Conditions 
have  now  changed  materially.  Our  exports  have  increased  largely  while  our 
imports  show  an  immense  decline. 

"The  keeping  in  this  country  of  two  hundred  million  dollars  heretofore 
spent  annually  abroad  by  tourists  is  another  factor  of  great  importance.  The 
tourist  will  now  have  an  opportunity  to  see  his  own  country.  I  never  met 
one  who  didn't  want  to  do  this,  but  when  the  time  came  he  always  found  it 
convenient  to  go  abroad.  Now  he  must  stay  at  home  or  travel  in  the  United 
States.  He  must  travel  somewhere,  so  he'll  see  his  own  country.  Take  this 
item  of  two  hundred  millions  and  multiply  it  by  eighty — our  circulating 
standard — it  means  an  immense  amount  of  money  circulated  in  this  country 
that  never  had  an  opportunity  to  circulate  heretofore.  The  railroads,  hotels 
and  all  commercial  avenues  will  be  benefited  through  this  condition. 

"While  California  may  miss  many  foreign  visitors  at  the  Exposition,  she 
will  certainly  receive  more  than  the  same  number  of  Americans  who  generally 
travel  in  Europe. 

"I  am  satisfied  that  within  the  next  six  months  our  prosperity  will  have 
shown  itself  to  such  a  marked  degree  that  we  will  all  forget  the  depression  we 
are  now  passing  through.  Everything  has  reached  bedrock  and  cannot  be 
depressed  further.  That  being  so  we  have  an  improvement  ahead  without  any 
possible  doubt." 


208 


THORNWELL  MULLALLY 


S2 


I 


WORKED  all  day,"  said  Thornwell   Mullally  speaking  of 
the  crowded  weeks  before  the  Auditorium  Ball,  "and  at  night 
£  I   read   Rose's  'Personality  of   Napoleon.'     The   connection 
y  may  not  be  immediately  apparent." 

Confessing  that  it  was  not  I  begged  him  to  elucidate. 
"My  favorite  reading,"  he  explained,  "is  all  along  this 
line,"  and  he  picked  up  from  his  desk  von  Bernhardi's  book 
on  Cavalry.  "Military  strategy  is  to  me  the  most  fascinating 
study  in  the  world.  I  read  the  text  books  on  the  subject,  I  devour  historical 
treatises  that  deal  with  it,  and  and  I  search  the  biographies  of  soldiers  for 
information  concerning  their  ways  of  handling  great  masses  of  troops.  I 
love  the  science  of  strategy.  I  have  a  profound  admiration  for  the  great 
strategists — for  Caesar,  for  Washington,  for  Grant  and  Lee  and  Stonewall 
Jackson,  but  particularly  for  Napoleon." 

Mullally,  by  the  way,  is  thought  to  bear  a  remarkable  resemblance  to 
certain  portraits  of  the  young  Bonaparte,  and  I  do  not  think  it  displeases 
him  to  have  the  likeness  noticed. 

"My  interest  in  military  strategy,"  he  continued,  "is  not  a  mere  dilet- 
tante interest.  It  began  in  the  most  natural  way,  for  I  was  five  years  a 
member  of  Squadron  A  of  the  New  York  Cavalry.  I  have  continued  the 
study  ever  since  for  very  practical  reasons.  I  apply  the  rules  of  strategy  to 
my  work.  The  methods  by  which  battles  are  won  may  be  used  to  advantage 
in  running  a  street  railroad.  They  make  for  success  in  any  big  public  under- 
taking even  if  it  happens  to  be  a  ball." 

"Happens?"  I  repeated  inquiringly.     "Why  do  you  say  'happens'?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  replied  Mullally,  showing  by  a  smile  that  he  was 
glad  I  had  put  the  question.  "I  have  now  had  considerable  experience  in  the 
organization  of  these  affairs." 

This.  I  need  not  interject,  is  a  conservative  statement  of  fact.  Thorn- 
well  Mullally  was  responsible  for  the  monster  Ball  of  All  Nations  which 
signalized  the  completion  of  Machinery  Hall  on  the  World's  Fair  grounds, 
the  largest  frame  building  in  the  world.  He  was  responsible  also  for  the 
success  of  the  ball  which  celebrated  the  opening  of  our  Municipal  Auditorium. 
His  was  the  controlling  hand  in  every  department  of  preparation  and  con- 
duct, his  the  tireless  activity  which  made  both  of  these  public  festivities 
record-breaking  successes.  But  I  am  interrupting  Mullally's  explanation. 

"My  experience  in  these  affairs,"  he  continued,  "has  enlightened  me 
concerning  the  psychology  of  the  San  Franciscan.  I  doubt  whether  there 
is  a  city  anywhere  else  in  the  world  whose  people  conduct  their  public 
merrymaking  as  admirably  as  San  Franciscans  do.  When  San  Franciscans 
play  they  play  with  all  their  hearts  and  souls,  giving  themselves  entirely  to 

209 


VARIED    TYPES 

the  spirit  of  the  joyous  occasion.  But  they  have  such  a  remarkable  sense 
of  order,  their  devotion  to  the  proprieties  is  so  instinctive  that  an  immense 
public  gathering  such  as  the  Auditorium  Ball  takes  the  form  of  a  real  civic 
achievement. 

"Viewed  in  this  light  the  merrymaking  possesses  only  incidental  import- 
ance. The  spirit  which  animates  the  throng  is  so  fine  that  one  wishes  it  had 
been  evoked  by  something  of  more  consequence  than  a  ball.  One  feels  a 
sense  of  inadequacy  in  reflecting  that  such  splendid  qualities  were  called 
forth  by  a  frivolous  pretext.  I  do  not  think  that  it  is  'considering  too  curiously 
to  consider  so.'  At  any  rate  it  is  the  dominant  thought  with  me.  I  am  not 
deprecating,  far  from  it.  I  am  not  suggesting  by  any  manner  of  means  that 
every  great  public  gathering  should  be  a  solemnity.  There  is  a  time  for 
solemnity  as  there  is  a  time  for  festivity.  I  am  not  taking  my  pleasure  sadly, 
but  perhaps  I  cannot  help  taking  it  thoughtfully.  Will  you  believe  me  when 
I  say  that  as  I  looked  round  the  Auditorium  when  the  ball  was  at  its  height, 
my  principal  feeling  was  one  of  awe?" 

Certainly  the  statement  surprised  me. 

"To  see  that  vast  assemblage  responding  so  perfectly  to  the  civic  appeal 
made  a  tremendous  impression  on  me,"  Mullally  explained.  "I  could  not 
help  thinking  that  San  Franciscans  would  be  animated  by  the  same  wonder- 
ful spirit  in  any  emergency  they  might  be  called  upon  to  deal  with.  We  saw 
that  identical  spirit  displayed  after  the  fire  of  1906.  The  burning  of  San 
Francisco  was  the  saddest  sight  I  ever  saw.  The  Auditorium  Ball  was  one 
of  the  merriest.  Yet  the  underlying  spirit  of  the  people  was  exactly  the  same. 
Thinking  of  that  and  speculating  as  we  cannot  help  speculating  in  this  time 
of  bloodshed  as  to  the  demands  which  the  future  may  make  upon  our  courage, 
is  it  any  wonder  that  I  was  awed?  Was  I  alone  in  being  thrilled  by  the 
thought  that  there  is  no  demand  to  which  this  city  is  not  equal,  no  test  which 
it  cannot  meet? 

"But  let  us  get  back  from  psychology  to  strategy,"  exclaimed  Mullally 
with  a  laugh.  "I  mapped  the  arrangements  for  the  Auditorium  Ball  as  a 
general  would  map  a  campaign.  After  we  had  cleared  the  floor  for  the  grand 
march  Signor  de  Pasquali  came  to  me  and  said  with  surprise  that  it  had 
been  done  in  forty-five  seconds.  Now  a  man  can  walk  quite  a  distance  in 
forty-five  seconds,  and  that  floor  was  cleared  just  as  fast  as  four  men  starting 
from  the  centre  of  the  floor  could  walk  to  the  four  corners,  stretching  ropes 
as  they  walked.  It  is  so  simple  that  it  can  be  illustrated  with  four  matches 
on  a  table.  In  the  same  way  a  diagram  of  a  few  lines  will  show  how  I  cleared 
a  special  space  for  the  exhibition  dancers,  and  how  I  simplified  the  judging  of 
costumes.  The  secret  lies  in  making  plans  beforehand,  leaving  nothing  to 
chance,  and  obtaining  intelligent  co-operation  from  those  who  execute  orders. 
And  the  waging  and  winning  of  battles  is  nothing  more  than  that,  is  it?" 

The  connection  between  Mullally's  preliminary  work  by  day  and  his 
study  of  Napoleon  by  night  was  no  longer  obscure. 

"It  is  only  another  way  of  paying  tribute  to  the  San  Francisco  spirit," 
Mullally  continued,  "to  say  that  while  the  Auditorium  was  well  policed,  there 
was  not  a  policeman  in  uniform  in  the  whole  building.  They  were  in  dress 

210 


THORNWELL     MULLALLY 

suits,  and  there  was  no  need  for  them  to  display  the  insignia  of  their  office. 
Not  a  single  instance  of  disorder  was  reported. 

"The  ball,"  Mullally  concluded,  "came  at  the  proper  moment.  It  came 
just  in  time  to  give  our  people  a  foretaste  of  the  Fair.  It  came  to  upset 
the  calculations  of  the  statisticians  too,  for  as  a  result  of  it  they  are  revising 
their  figures  of  Fair  attendance.  It  is  now  believed  that  the  attendance  of 
people  from  the  bay  region  will  exceed  that  of  people  similarly  situated  at 
any  other  World's  Fair." 

For  all  of  which  let  us  take  off  our  hats  to  Thornwell  Mullally,  the  man 
who  never  dances  but  who  gave  us  the  two  greatest  dances  in  our  history ! 
Let  us  acclaim  him  our  master  of  the  revels,  our  chamberlain  of  mirth,  our 
director  of  masques,  our  steward  of  merriment,  our  monarch  of  merry  dis- 
ports, our  keeper  of  the  seals  of  jollity!  In  the  Saturnalia  of  the  earliest 
Roman  days  the  king  of  the  revels  who  impersonated  god  Saturn  suffered 
martyrdom  at  the  end  of  the  celebration.  Let  us  not  treat  Thornwell  Mul- 
lally in  that  ungracious  fashion,  even  figuratively.  He  suffered  the  martyr- 
dom of  hard  work  while  the  revel  was  on.  Now  that  it  has  passed,  let  us  not 
forget  the  man  who  made  it  possible,  the  strategist  who  marshalled  our  forces 
of  fun,  the  psychologist  who  found  a  new  meaning  in  the  holiday  behavior 
of  San  Franciscans. 

Henry  Miller,  a  great  actor  and  a  stage  director  in  ten  thousand,  was 
at  the  Auditorium  Ball.  "I'd  like  to  have  Mullally  for  my  manager,"  was 
his  comment. 

Morris  Meyerfeld,  president  of  the  Orpheum  and  an  executive  of  proved 
ability,  was  there.  "Mullally  is  the  greatest  manager  I  ever  met,"  he  said 
to  a  friend. 

Dr.  Skiff  of  the  World's  Fair  is  the  most  experienced  exposition  man  in 
the  world.  "Mullally  is  to  be  congratulated  on  a  great  achievement,"  he 
declared. 

General  Wisser  was  not  at  the  Auditorium  Ball,  but  he  attended  the  Ball 
of  All  Nations.  After  that  affair  he  wrote  to  an  intimate :  "Mullally  would 
make  a  great  chief  of  staff." 

Mullally  is  in  charge  of  Special  Events  at  the  World's  Fair.  He  heads, 
or  it  might  be  more  correct  to  say  he  is  the  committee  which  supervises 
not  only  Special  Events,  but  also  Athletics  and  Military  Affairs.  His 
success  with  the  Ball  of  All  Nations  and  the  Auditorium  Ball — he  netted 
the  Fair  $55,000  out  of  these  two  events — indicated  that  he  could  be  of  greater 
service  to  our  city  and  our  Fair  in  more  closely  specialized  work.  Why 
diffuse  Mullally 's  activities?  Why  not  concentrate  them  in  the  field  where 
he  has  the  magic  power  to  raise  huge  sums  through  fun?  where  his  strate- 
gical and  psychological  powers  can  be  turned  to  the  very  best  account? 
Those  were  the  questions  our  Fair  Directors  asked  after  studying  Mullally's 
outstanding  achievements.  In  consequence  Mullally  was  drafted  for  addi- 
tional work. 


213 


THOMAS  M.  O'CONNOR 


IS  CLOSING  argument  in  the  Leah  Alexander  case  made 
newspapermen  weep.    It  may  sound  incredible,  but  the  truth 
^    T     T    AJ£    of  it  cannot  be  impugned.    The  salty  drops  found  channel  in 
^^    I      I     v^    call°us  cheeks,  and  the  yellow  copy  paper,  like  the  book  of 

L     L    Cn   the  Recording  Angel,    was  blotted  with  tears.     They  wept 
without  shame,  in  the  presence  of  a  court  room  throng  too 
busy  with  its  own  wet  eyes  to  wonder  at  the  sight.    When 
cynic    scribes   dissolve   lachrymally   who   shall   repeat   that 
sillyism  about  blood  and  a  turnip? 

His  closing  argument  won  other  unusual  testimonials.  I  have  the  word 
of  a  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  that  it  was  one  of  the  most  masterly 
ever  made  in  California.  I  have  it  from  a  Judge  of  our  Appellate  Court  that 
that  plea  placed  the  young  pleader  at  the  head  of  our  jury  lawyers.  His 
colleagues  of  the  bar  are  exalting  his  horn  in  every  conversation.  They  have 
been  trying  to  recall  any  other  occasion  when  a  murder  case  was  carried 
through  four  brief  days  to  a  verdict  of  Not  Guilty.  They  are  saying  that  the 
psychology  of  the  jury  box  is  his  to  command  in  all  its  amazing  ramifications. 

All  the  town  couldn't  get  into  the  court  room,  though  most  of  it  seemed 
to  try.  And  the  newspaper  accounts  were  necessarily  curtailed.  So  when 
I  read  excerpts  from  that  closing  argument  my  curiosity  was  filliped.  There 
were  lines  which  I  did  not  fully  understand.  Among  them  were  these: 

"The  Goddess  of  Justice  is  depicted  as  a  blind  goddess.  'Tis  well  that 
Justice  is  blind.  It  would  not  be  well  for  Justice  to  see  some  of  the  things 
that  have  been  done  in  this  case,  in  the  name  of  Justice  and  in  her  Temple. 
It  was  well  that  Justice  could  not  see  the  poor  old  mother  of  Leah  Alexander 
denied  the  privilege,  the  cold  consolation  of  sitting  by  her  daughter's  side 
in  the  hour  of  her  greatest  need.  It  was  well  that  Justice  could  not  see 
the  Court  admit  the  dying  statement  of  Van  Baalen  against  this  defendant 
and  exclude  from  the  record  his  other  dying  statement  in  this  defendant's 
favor.  It  was  well  that  Justice  could  not  see  that  the  ministers  of  her  Temple 
had  one  entrance  for  Mrs.  Van  Baalen  and  another  for  the  little  old  woman 
who  is  Leah  Alexander's  mother." 

I  went  to  Tom  O'Connor  and  asked  him  what  all  this  meant.  Was  not 
Mrs.  Alexander  allowed  to  sit  with  Leah? 

"On  the  first  day  of  the  trial,"  he  told  me,  "while  mother  and  daughter 
were  sitting  together  with  hands  clasped,  Judge  Dunne  sent  his  bailiff  to 
tell  the  mother  that  she  would  not  be  permitted  to  sit  with  her  daughter  in 
the  sight  of  the  jury.  So  Mrs.  Alexander  was  removed  to  a  seat  looking  out 
of  the  window  on  Portsmouth  Square  where,  if  her  vision  had  been  clearer, 
she  might  have  read  the  inscription  on  the  Stevenson  Monument,  'To  be 
honest,  to  be  kind.'  I  have  never  heard  of  this  being  done  before.  To  sit 

214 


THOMAS     M.    O'CONNOR 


THOMAS     M.     O'CONNOR 

beside  the  person  whose  life  or  liberty  is  in  the  balance  is  a  privilege  accorded 
to  the  close  relatives  of  defendants  in  all  our  courts,  and  I  do  not  recall  any 
other  case  in  which  the  discretion  of  the  court  was  exercised  against  it." 

"What  about  the  favorable  and  unfavorable  dying  statements?" 

"When  Van  Baalen  was  lying  in  the  corridor  of  the  Chronicle  Building," 
Tom  O'Connor  explained,  "Officer  Levy  asked  Leah  Alexander  why  she  shot 
him,  and  she  replied :  'Because  he  promised  to  marry  me.'  Then  Levy  asked 
Van  Baalen  if  he  had  promised  to  marry  her,  and  Van  Baalen  said :  'How 
could  I  promise,  when  she  and  everybody  knows  I'm  already  a  married  man.' 
That  was  admitted  in  evidence.  Later  in  the  day  word  came  from  the 
Emergency  Hospital  to  the  police  department  that  Van  Baalen  was  dying, 
and  Assistant  District  Attorney  James  Brennan  and  Detectives  Collier  and 
Callahan  hurried  to  the  hospital.  Van  Baalen  stated  that  he  didn't  know 
whether  he  was  going  to  die  or  not  and  told  them  to  ask  the  doctor.  Then 
turning  to  Brennan  he  said :  'Take  her  away,  Jim.  Treat  her  kindly.  She 
was  crazy  when  she  did  it.'  This  was  not  a  formal  dying  statement,  as  Van 
Baalen  did  not  acknowledge  that  he  was  going  to  die.  I  claimed,  however, 
that  it  was  admissible  in  evidence,  having  been  made  in  the  presence  and 
hearing  of  Leah  Alexander  and  she  having  replied  to  it.  It  was  part  of  the 
res  gestae.  But  the  objection  of  the  District  Attorney  to  its  admission  was 
sustained.  The  objection  may  have  been  properly  sustained  but  the  question 
was  so  close  that  the  defendant  might  have  been  given  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt." 

"And  what  about  the  discrimination  as  between  Mrs.  Van  Baalen  and 
Mrs.  Alexander?"  I  continued. 

"Nine  witnesses  had  testified  as  to  the  actual  killing  and  the  circum- 
stances surrounding  it,"  O'Connor  explained.  "One  witness  would  have  been 
sufficient  to  establish  the  prosecution's  case,  but  the  agony  was  piled  on  for 
the  purpose  of  impressing  the  jury  with  the  killing  end  of  the  story.  Then 
Leah  Alexander  told  her  story  on  the  stand,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  had 
created  a  profound  impression.  District  Attorney  Berry  had  anticipated  this, 
so  he  held  Mrs.  Van  Baalen,  the  widow,  for  rebuttal,  doubtless  believing  that 
by  closing  his  case  with  her  testimony  the  effect  of  Leah  Alexander's  story 
would  be  to  a  great  extent  neutralized.  She  was  brought  in  through  the 
Judge's  chambers,  leaning  on  the  arms  of  attendants,  a  beautiful  woman  in 
widow's  weeds  of  the  finest  texture.  I  felt  that  the  jury  must  have  noted 
this  departure  from  the  court's  attitude  toward  other  witnesses,  because  day 
after  day  during  the  trial  the  defendant  and  her  mother  were  compelled 
literally  to  fight  their  way  through  the  dense  crowd  that  thronged  the  court 
room  and  the  corridor.  No  suggestion  was  made  that  they  be  permitted  to 
make  their  entrance,  dramatic  or  otherwise,  through  the  Judge's  chambers." 

"What  was  the  incident,  referred  to  in  the  Daily  News,  of  Judge  Dunne 
ruling  out  a  telegram  which  he  had  not  read?"  I  continued. 

"That,"  explained  O'Connor,  "was  simply  a  little  lapse  on  the  part  of 
Judge  Dunne.  He  had  sustained  every  objection  made  by  the  District 
Attorney,  and  I  suppose  he  wanted  to  keep  his  record  straight  on  that  score. 
I  showed  Mrs.  Van  Baalen  the  copy  of  a  telegram  in  Van  Baalen's  hand- 

217 


VARIED    TYPES 

writing,  and  she  admitted  that  she  had  received  the  wire.  It  was  a  telegram 
arranging  the  details  of  their  divorce.  I  went  through  the  formality  of 
showing  the  telegram  to  Mr.  Berry  who  objected  to  its  admission  on  the 
ground  that  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  case.  This  objection  Judge  Dunne 
promptly  sustained.  When  I  called  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  decide  that  question,  since  he  had  not  seen  the  telegram 
and  was  ignorant  of  its  contents,  he  reddened  but  adhered  to  his  ruling. 

"As  another  indication  of  Judge  Dunne's  attitude  toward  the  defense  I 
may  mention  that  while  I  was  making  my  opening  statement,  he  interrupted 
me  with  the  remark  that  nothing  I  had  said  so  far  had  any  bearing  on  the 
case. 

"But  my  hat  is  off  to  Assistant  District  Attorney  Fred  Berry.  While  he 
fought  his  case  for  everything  that  was  in  it  and,  I  often  felt,  for  a  little  more, 
he  did  one  thing  in  that  trial  which  showed  that  his  partisanship  never  allied 
itself  with  unfair  tactics.  It  seems  that  Miss  Alexander,  shortly  after  her 
arrest,  had  antagonized  a  very  estimable  lady  on  one  of  the  papers.  On  the 
last  day  of  the  trial  this  lady  gave  expression  to  her  dislike  of  Miss  Alexander 
by  manifestations  of  ill  will.  I  noticed  the  lady's  attitude,  but  concluded  it 
would  be  unwise  to  do  or  say  anything,  as  I  inferred  that  she  was  uncon- 
sciously reflecting  her  mental  attitude.  But  Mr.  Berry  had  been  noticing 
this  little  byplay  in  the  court  room.  He  took  occasion  then  and  there  to 
remonstrate  with  the  lady  for  her  actions  and  told  her  not  to  repeat  them. 
She  immediately  left  the  court  room.  I  understand  that  on  Saturday  morning 
a  delegation  of  clubwomen  which  called  on  District  Attorney  Fickert 
protested  against  this  action  of  Mr.  Berry.  This  attitude  on  the  part  of  the 
lady  in  question  was  surprising  in  view  of  the  fact  that  every  other  woman 
in  the  court  room  throughout  the  trial  evidenced  the  liveliest  sympathy  for 
Miss  Alexander." 

This  lively  sympathy  of  the  women  was  one  of  the  outstanding  features 
of  the  trial.  Another  was  the  weeping  at  the  press  table  and  in  the  jury  box. 

"But  don't  let  anybody  tell  you,"  O'Connor  remarked,  "that  a  weeping 
juror  doesn't  convict.  One  of  the  three  men  who  held  out  for  conviction  had 
Niobe  looking  like  Marie  Dressier." 

I  thought  that  another  unusual  circumstance  was  the  sweeping  aside  of 
the  expert  testimony  of  Doctor  Lustig  who  pronounced  Leah  Alexander  sane. 
Tom  O'Connor  didn't  agree  with  me. 

"Alienists!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  a  jury  cares  very  little  for  the  expert 
testimony  of  alienists.  Every  juror  knows  that  an  alienist  with  a  retainer 
would  testify  that  St.  Vitus  didn't  know  how  to  dance !" 

It  was  a  notable  case  and  a  clean-cut,  complete  victory  for  forensic 
ability.  The  town  is  talking  about  it  and  about  as  no  other  case  has  been 
discussed  for  many  a  long  day.  The  polloi  are  acclaiming  a  new  legal 
luminary.  But  those  who  know  the  man  who  acquitted  Leah  Alexander  are 
not  surprised.  They  put  it  simply  : 

"Tom  O'Connor  has  come  into  his  own." 


218 


MRS.  KATHARINE  D.  OSBOURNE 


NOT  I 


Some  like  drink 
In  a  pint  pot. 
Some  like  to  think; 
Some  not. 

Strong  Dutch  cheese, 
Old  Kentucky  rye, 
Some  like  these; 
NotL 


Some  like  Poe 

And  others  like  Scott. 

Some  like  Miss  Stowe; 

Some  not. 

Some  like  to  fight, 

Some  like  to  cry, 

Some  like  to  write; 

NotL 


Now,  there's  enough, 

Clean  without  a  blot, 

Some  may  like  the  stuff; 

Some  not. 

Some  will  say  "Encore!" 

And  some  "0  fie!" 

Some  would  do  some  more; 

NotL 


ENTLE  READER,  do  I  hear  you  say:   "Quaint  but  trifling; 


almost  nonsense  verse?"  Well,  you  may  be  right,  but  this 
little  poem  is  precious  withal.  It  was  written  by  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson  and  I  esteem  it  a  privilege  to  be  able  to 
present  it  to  you,  because  it  has  never  been  published  before. 
Through  the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Katharine  D.  Osbourne  I 
was  allowed  to  copy  it  from  the  original  in  the  handwriting 
of  R.  L.  S.  which  is  preserved  by  Mrs.  Osbourne  in  a  little 
scrap  book  filled  with  mementoes  of  Lloyd  Osbourne's  childhood.  "Little 
Sam,"  as  Stevenson  called  the  boy  Lloyd,  had  a  printing  press  and  his  step- 
father used  to  write  him  just  such  quaint  effusions  which  were  duly  set  up 
and  printed  from  the  press.  A  number  of  these  little  poems  have  been 
published,  but  "Not  I"  is  now  given  to  the  world  for  the  first  time. 

In  her  beautiful  home  at  Lombard  and  Hyde  where  for  years  she  was 
next-door  neighbor  to  the  Carmelite  nuns,  Mrs.  Osbourne  preserved  many 
memorials  of  the  great  man  whom  it  was  her  misfortune  never  to  see.  She 
showed  me  the  set  of  dishes,  many  of  them  broken,  with  which  he  played  as  a 
baby  in  Edinburgh.  She  showed  me  the  "baby's  record"  in  which  his  mother 
preserved  a  minute  account  of  his  childish  achievements  from  the  day  of 
his  birth.  She  showed  me  a  lock  of  his  hair.  And  she  showed  me  many 


219 


VARIED    TYPES 

letters  written  by  him,  with  the  answers  from  men  who  have  become  famous 
merely  because  they  enjoyed  the  honor  of  his  correspondence. 

These  and  many  other  memorials,  Mrs.  Osbourne  explained,  belonged 
to  Jane  White  Balfour,  Stevenson's  "Aunty"  of  the  Child's  Garden  of  Verses. 
Before  her  death  Miss  Balfour  gave  them  to  Mrs.  Osbourne. 

"Among  other  things,"  says  Mrs.  Osbourne,  "were  the  letters  of  Mrs. 
Stevenson,  the  mother  of  R.  L.  S.,  which  I  had  published  about  five  years 
ago,  although  my  name  did  not  appear  as  the  editor  of  the  collection.  Among 
the  memorials  in  my  possession  were  many  which  I  gave  to  Graham  Balfour 
for  his  life  of  Stevenson.  That  life,  as  you  will  remember,  was  severely 
criticized.  Even  before  his  death  Stevenson  had  become  a  tradition  and 
Balfour  gave  people  that  traditional  Stevenson  who  was  far  from  being  the 
real  Stevenson.  Stevenson  was  not  the  'seraph  in  chocolate'  of  Balfour's 
book,  to  use  Henley's  expression.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  Henley's 
strictures,  but  Henley  who  was  full  of  malice  toward  the  end,  used  facts  to 
give  the  wrong  impression  of  Stevenson." 

"A  subject  never  dies  till  the  truth  is  written  about  it,"  says  Mrs. 
Osbourne,  and  part  of  that  truth  she  has  given  to  the  world.  Mrs.  Osbourne 
is  the  author  of  a  book  entitled  "Robert  Louis  Stevenson  in  California." 
The  plenteous  illustrations  alone  make  this  a  book  of  absorbing  interest. 
The  frontispiece  is  a  picture  of  Stevenson  never  before  published.  And  there 
is  a  picture  of  the  old  house  at  608  Bush  street  where  Stevenson  lived ;  not 
a  photograph,  for  none  is  in  existence,  but  a  drawing  made  by  Miss  Withrow, 
the  artist,  from  a  minute  description.  The  two  upper  stories  of  that  house 
were  brought  round  the  Horn.  When  Stevenson  returned  to  San  Francisco 
from  the  South  Seas  he  went  to  find  it,  but  it  had  been  pulled  down. 

But  the  woman  who  took  lodgers  there  was  still  living  and  when  she 
went  to  see  Stevenson  at  his  hotel  the  great  writer  excluded  all  other  visitors 
and  had  a  long  talk  with  her.  How  many  know  that  that  woman  is  still 
living?  She  is  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Carson,  a  delightful  old  Irish  woman  and  she 
lives  way  out  in  Geary  street.  She  gave  Mrs.  Osbourne  a  great  deal  of 
information  for  the  book. 

"She  is  a  dear  old  soul,"  says  Mrs.  Osbourne,  "and  her  memory  is 
splendid.  She  says  that  when  Stevenson  first  came  to  live  in  her  house  he 
was  'a  poor  shabby  shack  of  a  fellow'  and  that  'his  appearance  wasn't  what 
his  acquaintance  afterwards  bore  out.'  She  says  too,  'He  was  that  quick'  and 
all  who  know  the  real  Stevenson  who  swore  like  a  Billinsgate  fishwife  when 
he  was  aroused  by  injustice  and  went  after  a  waiter  with  a  bottle  when  he 
was  cheated  of  his  due  amount  of  wine,  will  agree  with  her." 

California  harbors  another  woman  who  knew  Stevenson  intimately,  says 
Mrs.  Osbourne.  When  Stevenson  was  "ordered  South"  by  his  physician  he 
went  to  Hyeres  in  the  south  of  France  and  there  employed  a  young  woman 
named  Valentine  Roche  to  nurse  him.  Valentine  Roche  remained  with 
Stevenson  for  eight  years,  leaving  him  finally  in  Honolulu.  She  came  to 
San  Francisco,  intending  to  return  to  her  home  in  France ;  but  instead  she 
met  and  married  Thomas  Brown,  a  farmer  of  Sonoma  and  has  been  living  in 
the  nearby  county  ever  since. 

220 


MRS.     KATHARINE     D.     OSBOURNE 


MRS.     KATHARINE     D.     OSBOURNE 

"She  is  a  very  remarkable  woman,"  says  Mrs.  Osbourne;  "keen,  intelli- 
gent and  with  an  ordinary  French  education.  She  was  with  Stevenson  when 
he  conferred  with  his  publishers  and  received  his  friends.  He  talked  to  her 
about  all  his  secrets  and  his  quarrels.  When  he  suffered  from  hemorrhages 
she  would  spend  the  night  on  a  rug  before  the  fireplace  in  his  bedchamber. 
She  was  alone  with  him  for  weeks  at  a  time.  Valentine  says  that  when  all 
the  rest  have  had  their  say  about  Stevenson  she  will  write  her  book  and  that 
it  will  be  unlike  anybody  else's.  And  she  is  right. 

"For  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  written  about  Stevenson.  The  world 
has  changed  since  he  died  and  it  must  change  a  good  deal  more  before  the 
truth  about  him  will  be  thoroughly  understood.  Some  day,  I  believe,  we 
shall  realize  that  Stevenson  was  the  greatest  man  of  his  age;  that  he  was 
the  great  prophet,  the  great  teacher.  The  breaking  away  of  the  world  from 
religious  dogma,  the  abandonment  of  the  old  beliefs  bring  us  nearer  to 
Stevenson's  teachings.  The  real  message  of  Stevenson's  life  is  a  religious 
message.  The  Catholics  like  to  quote  him  as  standing  up  for  Father  Damien, 
though  they  forget  sometimes  that  he  didn't  stand  up  for  Catholicism.  He 
saw  in  Father  Damien  a  man  who  gave  up  his  life  for  his  work.  He  loved 
Damien  as  he  loved  Dr.  Chalmers,  that  wonderful  man  who  went  as  a 
missionary  to  the  New  Hebrides  and  was  finally  eaten  by  cannibals.  Steven- 
son used  to  say  that  he  hoped  Chalmers  would  die  before  him  as  he  wanted 
to  write  the  missionary's  life.  But  Chalmers  survived  him.  Chalmers  had 
a  strange  power  over  the  cannibals  and  went  among  them  without  fear.  But 
through  sickness  his  power  was  at  a  low  ebb  when  they  knocked  him  on  the 
head  and  ate  him." 

"Somebody  asked  me  the  other  day,"  and  Mrs.  Osbourne  laughed, 
"whether  Stevenson  wasn't  like  Jesus  Christ.  I  said,  'Not  a  bit.'  And  yet 
I  can  see  him  being  like  Christ  in  driving  the  money-lenders  out  of  the 
Temple.  He  did  not  believe  in  the  divinity  of  Christ,  but  he  studied  His 
life  as  that  of  the  perfect  man." 

I  asked  Mrs.  Osbourne  who  were  the  closest  friends  of  Stevenson  in  this 
city. 

"Of  course  there  is  Mrs.  Carson,"  she  answered.  "Then  there  is  Mrs. 
Virgil  Williams.  Stevenson  was  very  intimate  with  Virgil  Williams  before 
his  death  and  wrote  to  him  a  great  deal.  He  corresponded  with  Mrs. 
Williams  too.  After  Stevenson's  death  in  Samoa  Mrs.  Stevenson  and  her 
son  Mr.  Lloyd  Osbourne  came  to  this  city  and  visited  Mrs.  Williams  on 
Russian  Hill.  It  was  at  that  time  that  I  married  Mr.  Osbourne.  I  returned 
with  them  to  Samoa;  later  I  went  to  England  and  Scotland  and  met  all 
the  living  members  of  his  family.  That  was  how  I  came  to  get  various 
memorials  including  the  letters  of  Stevenson's  mother  who  died  shortly  after 
he  died. 

"Another  San  Francisco  friend  of  Stevenson  was  Hiram  H.  Bloomer, 
the  artist,  who  died  recently  in  Sausalito.  He  knew  Stevenson  in  the  early 
days  in  France  and  it  was  through  him  that  Stevenson  met  Mrs.  Osbourne 
who  became  Mrs.  Stevenson.  Mr.  Bloomer  was  studying  art  in  Paris  while 
Mrs.  Osbourne  was  there  with  her  three  children.  The  oldest  was  a  girl  who 

223 


VARIED    TYPES 

was  just  about  Stevenson's  age.  The  youngest  was  a  boy  of  five  who  died 
in  Paris.  Airs.  Osbourne  was  told  that  Lloyd  would  die  too  if  he  stayed  in 
Paris  and  Mr.  Bloomer  advised  Mrs.  Osbourne  to  take  her  children  to  Gretz 
near  Fontainebleau.  It  was  there  that  she  met  Stevenson.  You  may  re- 
member that  he  wrote  of  Mr.  Bloomer  in  his  essay  on  Fontainebleau. 

"Those  early  days  in  Paris  were  described  in  'The  Wreckers.'  It  is 
not  generally  known  that  the  Speedys  who  figure  in  that  story  were  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Carson  who  spent  all  their  money  buying  wildcat  mining  stocks. 
Pinkerton,  the  American  promoter  in  the  same  story,  was  Colonel  S.  S. 
McClure.  I  don't  think  McClure  really  liked  being  put  in.  But  he  had  a 
great  affection  for  Stevenson  and  would  have  made  him  a  very  rich  man 
if  Stevenson  had  fallen  in  with  his  plans." 

Mrs.  Osbourne  told  me  that  she  and  her  husband  did  most  of  the  work 
of  editing  the  letters  of  Stevenson.  "Sidney  Colvin  had  a  way  of  putting 
off  things,"  she  said ;  "he  wrote  the  introduction  to  the  letters  but  we  edited 
them."  She  said  too  that  some  of  the  letters  in  her  book  are  very  important 
to  the  student  of  Stevenson's  life.  One  written  from  Bush  street  to  his 
family  shows  that  the  secret  of  his  sorrow  and  ill  health  here  was  the 
opposition  of  his  family  to  his  marriage.  But  when  they  found  that  he  was 
determined  to  marry  they  sent  him  money. 

"There  was  money  waiting  for  him  at  the  general  postoffice  in  New 
York,"  she  told  me,  "while  he  was  living  on  forty-five  cents  a  day  in  San 
Francisco." 

And  she  said  that  one  of  the  most  interesting  books  ever  written  about 
Stevenson  was  "With  Stevenson  in  Samoa,"  by  H.  J.  Moors,  a  work  which 
has  not  attracted  the  attention  it  deserves. 

"He  was  not  literary,"  she  explained;  "so  he  could  only  tell  the  truth. 
You  know  how  truthful  the  unliterary  person  is." 

Mrs.  Osbourne  looked  at  me  questioningly. 

And  I  nodded  a  reluctant  head. 


224 


CHARLES  ROLLO  PETERS 


I 


M  A  LITTLE  hollow  of  the  Marin  hills  near  Greenbrae 
stands  a  gnarled,  old,  sturdy  oak  tree.  It  spreads  its  lichened 
branches  like  venerable  arms  extended  in  benediction,  and 
there  is  a  sylvan  silence  all  about  it.  From  the  quiet  glade 
the  hills  rise  on  one  side  in  curving  progress  till  they  make 
the  majesty  of  Tamalpais;  on  the  other  they  drop  grace- 
fully downward  to  the  waters  of  the  bay.  It  is  a  spot  for 
contemplation,  where  one  may  hold  one's  soul  aloof  from  the 
noisy  world  and  let  nature  whisper  to  it.  Just  such  a  nook  would  a  poet 
hunt  out  when  the  urge  of  inspiration  sent  him  from  mankind  to  the  breast 
of  Mother  Earth.  Just  such  a  spot  would  Daniel  O'Connell  have  loved.  So 
there  is  a  happy  appropriateness  in  the  choice  of  this  charming  place  for  a 
memorial  to  the  dead  poet  of  Bohemia. 

The  new  memorial  to  Daniel  O'Connell  we  owe  to  Charles  Rollo  Peters. 
Between  the  dead  poet  and  the  painter  whose  brush  is  dipped  in  the  witchery 
of  moonlight  there  was  a  strong  affection.  It  lasted  through  many  years  of 
glorious  ups  and  dismal  downs,  and  it  was  consecrated  by  death.  Peters  was 
among  the  last  at  the  poet's  deathbed;  he  wept  as  he  followed  the  mortal 
remains  to  the  tomb.  When  it  was  proposed  to  erect  a  memorial  at  Sausalito, 
and  funds  were  not  forthcoming,  Peters  put  up  one  of  his  best  pictures  at 
auction  and  made  the  accomplishment  of  the  project  possible. 

Perhaps  Rollo  Peters  is  jealous  of  the  indiscriminate  throng  which  shares 
that  Sausalito  memorial  with  him.  Perhaps  he  feels  that  Dan  O'Connell 
should  be  commemorated  in  the  woods  he  so  passionately  loved  as  well  as 
in  the  town  where  he  lived.  Whatever  the  motive  or  mixture  of  motives, 
Peters  resolved  on  a  memorial  in  the  Marin  hills.  He  has  painted  there  a 
great  deal,  and  knows  their  many  charming,  secret  places.  He  picked  the 
quiet  glade  with  its  noble  oak  as  fittest  to  receive  the  honor. 

So  a  bronze  tablet  designed  by  Peters'  and  O'Connell's  friend,  Willis 
Polk,  has  been  affixed  to  the  oak  tree.  It  bears  only  these  words :  "In  loving 
memory  of  Daniel  O'Connell,  poet,  philosopher,  friend."  There  was  a  fitting 
celebration.  Porter  Ashe,  Ned  Hamilton  and  others  recalled  the  good  old 
days  when  "The  Roseleaves"  fluttered  about  in  madcap  merriment.  And 
then  the  tablet  was  left  to  Mother  Nature  and  to  the  silence  which  is  only 
broken  by  the  soughing  of  the  breeze  through  the  branches  and  the  music 
of  the  bee  and  the  katydid.  Only  the  wanderer  in  the  hills  or  the  devout 
pilgrim  seeking  out  shrines  of  song  will  find  the  tablet  on  the  oak. 

"Dan  O'Connell  loved  God's  out-of-doors,"  said  Peters  when  I  asked 
him  about  the  memorial.  "He  delighted  in  life  in  the  open.  He  was  an 
excellent  shot,  a  skilled  fly  fisher  and  an  expert  yachtsman.  So  it  seemed 
right  to  commemorate  him  in  the  hills  and  among  the  trees." 

225 


VARIED     TYPES 

This  reminded  me  of  what  Delmas  wrote  of  the  poet :  "A  lover  of  nature, 
his  genius  expanded  and  poured  forth  its  garnered  treasures  the  closer  it 
nestled  upon  the  breast  of  the  great  parent  of  the  universe." 

"Did  you  know  that  Dan  O'Connell  was  a  grand-nephew  of  the  great 
Irish  Liberator?"  Peters  asked  me.  I  admitted  my  ignorance. 

"He  came  of  fine  stock,"  the  painter  continued.  "He  was  a  cousin  of 
Herbert  of  Muckross,  the  owner  of  the  Killarney  estate  before  Billy  Bourn 
bought  it  for  his  daughter.  His  father  was  the  original  of  the  hero  of  Charles 
Lever's  novel  'The  Knight  of  Gwyn.'  He  had  an  estate  at  Darrynane  in 
Clare,  but  ruined  himself  by  excess  of  hospitality,  like  so  many  other  Irish 
gentlemen. 

"Dan  was  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  and  then  went  into  the 
British  navy.  But  he  fought  a  duel  with  a  Frenchman  in  China,  wounded 
him  and  had  to  skip  to  avoid  being  courtmartialed.  He  came  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  from  here  made  his  way  to  Santa  Clara  College  on  foot.  Why  he 
went  there  I  never  learned — perhaps  he  knew  some  priest  at  the  college — 
but  at  any  rate  they  made  him  a  professor  and  he  stayed  for  some  time. 
Later  he  came  to  San  Francisco  and  supported  himself  by  writing  for  the 
papers.  He  was  generally  desperately  poor,  but  his  friends  assisted  him 
from  time  to  time  and  he  managed  to  get  along  somehow  or  other. 

"His  poetry  was  written  at  odd  times  and  brought  him  little  money.  He 
knew  it  was  good  poetry,  but  was  not  conceited.  At  the  same  time,  he  had 
an  Irishman's  sentimentality  and  often  wondered  whether  he  would  be  re- 
membered after  death. 

"His  death  was  very  sudden  and  was  due  to  pneumonia.  He  died  at 
Sausalito  in  a  house  belonging  to  James  V.  Coleman.  Two  weeks  before 
he  had  written  his  most  beautiful  poem,  'The  Chamber  of  Sleep.'  It  reads 
like  a  prophecy  but  when  he  wrote  it  he  did  not  expect  to  die.  A  few  hours 
before  his  death  I  went  to  his  bedside  with  Coleman  and  Billy  Berg.  He 
was  breathing  heavily.  He  drew  me  down  close  to  him  and  whispered: 

"  'Charley,  me  boy,  they've  struck  the  old  ship  below  the  water  line  and 
she's  sinking.' 

"Then  in  a  louder  voice,  and  so  as  to  deceive  his  wife  who  was  standing 
close  by,  he  added : 

"Yes,  bring  me  all  the  magazines  you  can.  I'll  read  them  while  I'm 
getting  well.' 

"He  was  buried  from  the  Bohemian  Club ;  the  only  man,  I  suppose,  who 
ever  was  or  ever  will  be  buried  from  there. 

"He  was  a  jovial  fellow,  and  used  to  write  a  lot  of  nonsense  verse  for 
his  friends  to  sing.  There  are  some  foolish  lines  of  his  running  through  my 
head  now.  The  Roseleaves  used  to  roar  them  out  when  they  went  for  a 
barbecue  behind  Angel  Island  in  Commodore  Harrison's  'Frolic.'  They  were 
written  about  a  chap  named  McCarthy  who  owned  a  yacht  that  his  father 
didn't  know  about.  They  went  something  like  this: 


226 


CHARLES     ROLLO    PETERS 


CHARLES     ROLLO     PETERS 

'Now  old  McCarthy  drew  the  prize, 

And  it  was  a  glorious  day 
When  to  the  bank  the  old  man  went 

To  salt  the  coin  away. 
But  young  Dick,  he  was  a  blood,  you  bet, 

IFrom  his  head  down  to  his  heel, 
And  every  day  he'd  stale  away 

To  take  the  schooner's  wheel. 
Miss  Daisy  Green  is  very  ill, 

Miss  Aggie  Riordan's  worse, 
Tim  Fagan  lays  aside  his  pipe 

Anne  Finnerty  to  nurse; 
And  though  they  are  as  limp  as  rags, 

They  are  too  game  to  squeal, 
And  say,  'The  Lord  is  with  us  while 

McCarthy's  at  the  wheel.' 

"O'Connell  had  a  charming  personality.  He  was  very  magnetic,  a  great 
story  teller  and  quick  at  repartee.  But  there  was  no  evil  in  his  mind,  no 
malice  in  his  wit.  I  never  heard  him  say  anything  calculated  to  inflict  pain. 
Time  and  time  again  when  someone  baited  him  in  after  dinner  talk  he  would 
lean  over  to  me  and  say : 

"  'Charlie,  me  boy,  I  could  say  so  and  so  in  answer  to  that,  but  what's  the 
use?' 

"These  suppressed  replies  were  always  gems  of  repartee. 

"He  always  presented  a  smiling  face  to  the  world.  I  remember  once  on 
one  of  the  expeditions  of  the  Roseleaves  he  was  wanted  to  make  the  chowder 
and  I  went  looking  for  him.  I  found  him  sitting  some  distance  up  the  beach. 
He  refused  to  return  with  me. 

"  'I've  got  a  riproaring  headache,'  he  told  me,  'and  I  might  say  something 
ill-natured  that  I'd  regret.' 

"He  had  many  sincere  friends.  Stevenson  was  one  of  them.  I  think  the 
one  sincere  spot  in  Delmas'  life  was  his  fondness  for  Dan  O'Connell. 

"Clay  Greene  says  that  when  he  was  at  Santa  Clara  he  was  a  handsome 
young  man  but  in  later  years  he  was  red-faced,  fat  and  of  great  bulk. 

"I  remember  years  ago  reading  in  an  English  magazine  a  story  by  Somer- 
est  Maugham  called  'An  Irish  Gentleman.'  I  thought  at  the  time  that 
Maugham  had  Dan  O'Connell  in  mind,  and  meeting  him  years  afterwards, 
asked  him  about  it.  He  said  I  was  right.  He  had  known  Dan  well.  And 
he  described  him  correctly.  Yes,  Dan  O'Connell  was  an  Irish  gentleman." 


229 


WILLIAM  A.  PINKERTON 


HO  STOLE  the  Mona  Lisa?" 

That  may  seem  a  foolish  question  to  ask  a  detective. 
If  he  knew  who  stole  the  da  Vinci  masterpiece  wouldn't  he 
arrest  the  thief  and  restore  the  picture  to  the  Louvre?  Of 
course  he  would  if  he  could,  but  thief-hunting  isn't  as  simple 
as  all  that.  A  detective  might  know  who  stole  the  Mona 
Lisa,  and  still  be  unable  to  make  out  a  case.  He  might 
be  unable  to  find  where  the  picture  was  hidden.  Detectives 
in  San  Francisco  have  told  me  they  know  the  thief  who  stole  the  De  Sabla 
jewels  at  the  Mardi  Gras.  Supposing  they  are  correct,  what  would  be  the 
use  of  arresting  the  thief  if  they  couldn't  put  their  hands  on  the  loot? 

I  thought  perhaps  some  of  our  thief-takers  knew  who  cut  the  Mona 
Lisa  out  of  its  frame  in  the  Louvre.  Long  before  the  picture  was  recovered 
I  asked  William  J.  Burns  who  turned  that  trick.  He  told  me  he  didn't  know. 
A  little  later  I  asked  the  same  question  of  "The  Eye"  and  got  the  same 
answer.  "The  Eye"  is  Bill  Pinkerton.  It's  what  the  crooks  call  him  out  of 
compliment  to  his  eternal  vigilance.  But  "The  Eye"  didn't  know  who  stole 
the  Mona  Lisa  any  more  than  Burns  knew. 

"But  I  do  know,"  said  Pinkerton,  "that  the  two  men  whose  names  have 
been  most  prominently  connected  with  the  Louvre  robbery  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  I  mean  Eddie  Guerin  and  Adam  Worth.  At  different  times 
the  papers  have  had  sensational  stories  connecting  these  men  with  the  job. 

"Eddie  Guerin,  the  noted  American  crook,  was  sentenced  to  Devil's  Island 
by  the  French  government.  It  was  reported  that  he  escaped  from  the  island. 
He  didn't.  Only  one  man  ever  escaped  from  Devil's  Island,  and  he  was 
caught  later  in  an  open  boat,  crazy  and  starving.  Guerin  escaped  from  the 
mainland  of  New  Guinea.  He  made  his  way  to  London  where  he  was 
arrested.  The  French  government  tried  to  extradite  him  but  failed.  He  is 
safe  in  England,  but  the  moment  he  set  foot  in  France  or  the  United  States 
he'd  be  locked  up.  The  story  was  that  he  took  a  chance,  went  to  Paris  and 
stole  the  Mona  Lisa  to  get  revenge  on  the  French  authorities.  But  that's 
ridiculous;  a  pure  American  newspaper  fake.  I  saw  Guerin  in  London  last 
summer.  He's  keeping  a  small  tobacco  shop  and  living  very  quietly.  He  has 
to  because  Scotland  Yard  knows  every  move  he  makes.  He  realizes  perfectly 
that  if  he  ever  goes  to  France  he'll  be  sent  to  Devil's  Island  in  a  hurry,  and 
he'll  never  leave  Devil's  Island  alive. 

"The  Adam  Worth  story  is  another  fake.  I'm  a  firm  believer  that  a 
man  can  come  back,  but  it  depends  on  where  he  comes  from.  To  come  back 
and  steal  the  Mona  Lisa  as  he  stole  the  Gainsborough  Duchess  of  Devonshire, 
Adam  Worth  would  have  to  come  from  the  Great  Divide.  Adam  Worth  died 
in  England  on  January  8,  1902." 

230 


WILLIAM    A.    PINKERTON 


WILLIAM    A.     PINKERTON 

"Are  there  any  crooks  you  know  of  who  could  have  done  the  job?" 

"Lots  of  them.  There  are  plenty  of  crooks  today  cleverer  than  Eddie 
Guerin  or  Adam  Worth.  The  only  difference  is  that  these  men  haven't  been 
featured  by  the  papers.  The  last  time  I  was  in  Paris  a  man  of  the  world, 
not  a  crook  himself  but  acquainted  with  lots  of  crooks,  told  me  that  a 
member  of  an  Anglo-American  gang  came  to  him  one  day,  just  about  the  time 
of  the  Mona  Lisa  robbery,  and  offered  to  get  him  any  picture  in  the  Louvre 
for  one  thousand  dollars. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  that  was  an  easy  trick  to  turn.  Worth  told  me 
once  that  he  could  steal  the  crown  jewels  out  of  the  Tower  of  London.  I 
told  him  the  thing  was  impossible,  but  when  the  British  authorities  heard 
of  his  boast  I  noticed  that  they  put  a  closer  guard  over  the  crown  jewels. 
They've  kept  up  the  guard  ever  since.  And  you  remember  that  the  regalia 
was  stolen  from  Dublin  Castle. 

"I  suppose  the  man  who  took  the  Mona  Lisa  had  a  confederate  in  the 
gallery.  But  what  did  he  get?  The  Mona  Lisa  is  a  white  elephant.  It  ain't 
worth  thirty  cents." 

'If  that's  the  case,  why  did  Worth  steal  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire?" 

"Worth  didn't  steal  the  Gainsborough  for  what  it  would  bring.  He 
stole  it  to  get  a  pal  out  of  a  London  jail.  Worth  swore  he  would  get  his 
friend  out  before  trial.  This  was  no  easy  matter  because  in  England  a 
bondsman  must  be  a  freeholder  and  of  good  reputation.  One  day  at  this 
time  Worth  and  an  English  crook  called  'Junka'  were  walking  along  Bond 
street  and  noticed  a  great  many  people  entering  the  art  gallery  of  Agnew 
and  Company.  They  were  curious  and  went  in.  They  found  that  the  Gains- 
borough Duchess  of  Devonshire  which  the  Agnews  had  bought  a  few  days 
before  for  £10,500  was  on  exhibition.  When  they  left  Worth  told  'Junka' 
that  he  had  discovered  a  way  of  releasing  his  friend.  He  said  he  would 
steal  the  painting  and  then  send  word  to  the  Agnews  that  the  man  in  jail 
would  recover  it  for  them  if  they  got  him  out. 

"On  a  foggy  night  in  May,  1876,  Worth  broke  into  the  gallery  and  cut 
the  picture  from  the  frame.  Next  day  London  was  in  an  uproar.  But  mean- 
while the  attorney  for  the  man  in  jail  had  discovered  another  way  to  get 
him  out.  The  man  had  been  extradited  from  France,  but  there  was  a  flaw 
in  the  extradition  papers  and  he  was  released  on  habeas  corpus.  That 
left  Worth  with  a  white  elephant  on  his  hands. 

"In  the  following  year  one  of  Worth's  accomplices  was  sent  to  prison 
from  New  York  for  forgery.  While  he  was  in  prison  he  sent  for  my  brother 
Bob  and  told  him  the  story  of  the  robbery.  The  facts  were  communicated  to 
Scotland  Yard.  They  already  suspected  Worth,  but  there  was  no  way  of 
finding  where  the  picture  was. 

"Worth,  as  he  himself  told  me  later,  brought  the  picture  to  America,  had 
a  special  trunk  built  for  it  and  kept  it  in  storage,  first  in  Brooklyn,  then  in 
New  York  and  later  in  Boston.  Meanwhile  Worth  continued  his  career  of 
crime,  and  was  finally  sent  to  prison  in  Belgium.  He  came  out  a  wreck. 
Shortly  afterwards  he  ran  across  his  old  friend  Pat  Sheedy,  the  well  known 
sporting  man.  Years  before  I  had  told  Sheedy,  if  he  ever  ran  across  Worth, 

233 


VARIED    TYPES 

to  persuade  him  to  return  the  picture  through  me.  Sheedy  remembered, 
and  made  the  suggestion.  The  result  was  that  Worth  walked  into  my 
Chicago  office  one  day.  He  had  come  from  London  about  the  picture.  I 
hadn't  seen  him  for  seventeen  or  eighteen  years.  He  told  me  the  whole  story 
of  the  theft.  The  matter  hung  fire  for  a  long  time,  but  finally  on  March  28, 
1901,  Worth  brought  the  picture  to  my  office  where  one  of  the  Agnews  was 
waiting  to  receive  it.  It  was '  twenty-five  years  since  Agnew  had  seen  the 
picture,  and  he  cried  when  he  looked  at  it.  It's  now  in  the  Pierpont  Morgan 
collection." 

"A  crook  like  Worth,"  continued  Pinkerton,  "leaves  his  mark  on  every 
job  he  does.  The  work  of  the  great  American  crook  always  stands  out. 
Compared  to  the  great  American  crook  all  others  are  duffers,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  the  Australian  crook." 

"Big  Mac  for  instance,"  I  suggested. 

"Yes,"  said  Pinkerton,  "I  knew  that  bank  job  in  British  Columbia  was 
Big  Mac's  as  soon  as  I  looked  it  over.  I  know  McNamara  well,  and  must 
say  I  like  him.  When  I  was  in  San  Francisco  I  never  passed  The  Turtle  or 
Tom's  Cabin  without  dropping  in  to  spend  a  few  dollars  and  have  a  chat 
with  Mac.  I  was  never  so  sorry  for  turning  up  any  man  in  my  life.  But 
I  didn't  take  any  unfair  advantage  of  him.  He's  a  fellow  with  a  big  heart, 
always  willing  to  share  his  last  dollar  with  a  friend.  He's  one  of  the  coolest 
men  I  ever  knew.  You  know  when  we  arrested  him  he  asked  what  we 
wanted  him  for.  We  told  him,  for  cracking  a  bank  vault  near  Vancouver 
and  getting  away  with  $271,000.  'Oh,  is  that  all?'  he  said:  'I  thought  it 
might  be  something  serious.'  I  suppose  you  know  he  has  been  ordered 
extradited  from  New  York?" 

Bill  Pinkerton  smiled  in  an  amused  way. 

"That  was  a  great  alibi  Mac  fixed  up  for  himself.  At  the  time  of  the 
robbery  he  was  living  quietly  at  Fort  Lee,  New  Jersey.  He  brought  witnesses 
to  swear  that  he  had  been  in  New  York  and  Fort  Lee  that  day.  There  was 
a  restaurant  tab  to  prove  that  he  had  eaten  in  a  Fort  Lee  restaurant.  There 
was  an  automobile  man  to  swear  that  Mac  had  had  an  auto  ride  of  several 
hours  in  Fort  Lee.  He  gave  the  name  of  the  garage  and  the  number  of  the 
car.  Finally  there  was  a  gatekeeper  at  the  Erie  ferry  who  swore  that  Mac 
had  started  through  the  wrong  gate  and  the  gatekeeper  had  called  him  back. 
I  had  a  man  eat  at  the  restaurant  and  found  by  the  number  of  his  check 
that  Mac's  was  only  a  few  days  old  instead  of  four  months  old.  The  auto- 
mobile number  was  the  number  of  a  hearse  which  had  been  at  a  funeral 
when  Mac  was  supposed  to  have  been  joy  riding.  And  the  books  of  the 
Erie  company  showed  the  watchman  hadn't  been  working  that  day.  That 
was  a  very  carelessly  constructed  alibi." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  dictagraph?" 

"I've  never  given  it  a  fair  trial,  so  I  can't  say  whether  it  is  worth  while 
or  not.  At  the  same  time,  you  know  it  fell  down  awfully  in  the  Lorimer 
case.  It  was  supposed  to  have  been  used  on  Hines.  The  senatorial  committee 
summoned  the  operator  and  tried  out  the  dictagraph  under  exactly  the  same 
conditions.  An  expert  stenographer  got  barely  one-third  of  the  conversation 

234 


WILLIAM    A.    PINKERTON 

which  was  supposed  to  have  been  obtained.  That  discredited  the  dictagraph 
with  the  committee." 

"Will  you  ever  write  a  book  about  your  experiences?" 

"Never.  I  don't  believe  in  that  sort  of  thing.  Magazines  have  been 
after  me  time  and  time  again  for  stories,  but  with  one  or  two  exceptions  I 
have  always  turned  them  down.  I  don't  believe  in  traveling  with  a  brass 
band.  I  don't  go  in  for  cheap  notoriety.  Besides,  detective  stories  do  more 
harm  than  good.  They  are  not  the  right  kind  of  reading  for  boys.  Detective 
stories  and  the  moving  picture  shows  before  they  were  censored  were  the 
greatest  of  all  incentives  to  crime  among  the  young." 

When  Pinkerton  speaks  of  the  evil  effect  of  detective  stories  he  does  not 
refer  to  Conan  Doyle  or  Hornung  or  such  writers.  He's  strong  for  them. 
He's  particularly  enthusiastic  about  Raffles  and  Bunny.  But  he  doesn't 
care  much  about  Gaboriau.  "Too  Frenchy,"  he  says.  As  for  Poe,  he  says 
he  hasn't  read  much  of  him. 

Bill  Pinkerton  has  been  a  detective  for  fifty  years,  ever  since  he  was 
fifteen  years  old.  There  was  a  time  when  he  knew  every  important  crook 
in  the  world. 

"But  I've  been  doing  office  work  so  long  now,"  he  says,  'that  I've  lost 
track  of  a  lot  of  them.  They  keep  growing  up  all  the  time.  The  supply 
never  fails." 

But  the  crooks  all  know  Bill  Pinkerton,  know  him  and  fear  him. 

"There  goes  'The  Eye,' "  one  of  the  gentry  said  to  me  on  Powell  street 
the  other  day. 

Perhaps  he's  not  your  idea  of  a  detective  at  all.  An  elderly  gentleman, 
portly,  gray,  a  bit  stiff  in  his  walk,  with  narrow  sleepy  eyes.  He  dresses 
carefully  with  a  generous  sprinkling  of  diamonds,  emeralds  and  pearls.  But 
the  tap  of  his  cane  on  the  sidewalk  has  a  sinister  sound  for  crooks.  They 
don't  care  to  exchange  glances  with  "The  Eye." 


235 


GEORGE  H.  PIPPY 


F  ALL  our  noble  army  of  colonels  in  mufti  only  two  are 
barbigerous.  I  refer  to  Colonel  Marye  and  Colonel  Pippy. 
The  barbal  facade  of  Colonel  Marye  is  calculated  to  excite 
the  envy  of  poor  depilated  mortals;  but  it  lacks  the  delicate 
distinction  which  goes  with  rarity.  The  hirtellous  ornamen- 
tation of  the  Marye  front  is  not  unlike  that  of  many  less 
distinguished  men.  Colonel  Pippy,  on  the  other  hand,  shares 
his  barbate  honors  with  just  two  men  in  the  United  States, 
John  D.  Crimmins  of  New  York  and  Senator  Ham  Lewis  of  Illinois. 

The  hairy  arabesques  that  scroll  the  lower  portion  of  Colonel  Pippy's 
countenance  descend  in  graceful  undulations  from  either  cheek,  eager  to 
mingle  their  traceries  on  his  chin.  But  they  are  not  allowed  to  intertwine 
in  careless  tanglement.  Advancing  in  ordered  array,  it  is  their  evident 
purpose  to  overrun  the  mentum  and  countermarch  on  the  other  side  of  the 
facial  territory.  But  only  their  outposts  find  contact  at  the  frontier.  The 
main  forces  are  turned  back  upon  themselves,  leaving  a  line  of  demarcation 
fringed  with  little  curls.  The  secret  of  this  method  of  disposing  whiskers  is 
known  only  to  Pippy,  to  Lewis  and  to  Crimmins.  Therefore,  hispidulously 
speaking,  Colonel  Pippy  is,  in  the  life  of  San  Francisco,  a  man  apart. 

Colonel  Pippy,  however,  has  more  than  capillary  attraction.  His  renown 
is  not  solely  hirsute.  No  mere  Don  Whiskerandos  is  Colonel  Pippy.  The 
glory  of  him  does  not  originate  in  a  barber  shop.  Nay,  his  trellised  con- 
volvuli  are  physically  symbolical  of  higher  qualities.  The  Colonel  is,  in  the 
best  sense  of  the  term,  a  two-fisted  gentleman.  He  expounds  the  law  with 
one  hand  and  impounds  the  cream  with  the  other.  He  is  equally  at  ease,  be 
the  topic  certiorari  or  certified  milk.  He  has  both  a  license  from  the  Board 
of  Health  and  a  diploma  from  the  Supreme  Court.  Colonel  Pippy  is  a  lawyer 
and  a  milkman. 

A  San  Franciscan  by  birth,  Colonel  Pippy  began  life  as  a  blacksmith's 
helper  in  a  carriage  factory  earning  three  dollars  a  week.  His  first  employer 
is  today  his  oldest  friend.  In  due  course  he  married  the  boss'  daughter  and 
embarked  in  business  for  himself.  His  equipment  was  a  horse,  a  wagon  and 
divers  milk  cans  procured  on  credit.  That  was  thirty-three  years  ago.  Today 
he  has  a  dairy  in  San  Francisco  and  another  in  Oakland;  he  supplies  three 
thousand  retail  customers  as  well  as  most  of  the  big  hotels,  hospitals  and 
restaurants.  No  other  individual  in  the  milk  trade  of  the  West  has  so  large 
a  business  as  Colonel  Pippy. 

It  is  more  or  less  popular  to  "roast"  or  "kid"  the  milkman.  In  the  comic 
papers  the  milkman  is  always  on  intimate  terms  with  the  village  pump.  But 
the  cream  has  been  skimmed  from  that  milky  jest.  So  I  am  not  going  to 
milk-pan  or  milk-toast  Colonel  Pippy.  He  is  no  milk-sop,  no  milk-and-water 

236 


GEORGE    H.    PIPPY 


GEORGE    H.    PIPPY 

dairyman.  He  is  indeed  a  fine  fellow,  overflowing  with  the  pasteurized  milk 
of  human  kindness,  and  he  goes  smilingly  his  milky  way  ruminating  good 
deeds  and  lactating  happiness  for  all  sorts  of  people.  There  are  no  curds  in 
Colonel  Pippy's  disposition.  Speaking  in  dairy  terms,  the  casein  of  him  has 
never  coagulated.  He  has  not  soured  on  the  world.  In  the  turmoil  of  business 
he  has  never  forfeited  the  right  to  fly  the  milk-white  flag  of  honorable  dealing. 
In  the  ups  and  downs  of  life  he  has  never  lost  his  lactose  smile,  never  abated 
the  butter-fat  unction  of  his  geniality.  The  lactometer  test  has  no  terrors 
for  him. 

Neither  has  Nathan  Strauss.  Strauss  is  the  sworn  foe  of  diseased  cows 
and  dirty  dairies.  This  ardent  milk  crusader  brought  the  gospel  of  pas- 
teurization to  San  Francisco  some  time  ago.  Strauss  expected  to  find  blame- 
worthy conditions  here.  He  found  nothing  of  the  sort.  But  after  the  fashion 
of  ardent  reformers  he  condemned  our  cows  and  dairies  first,  and  investigated 
them  afterwards. 

"Strauss  was  genuinely  surprised,"  says  Colonel  Pippy,  "to  find  how 
downtodate  our  big  dairies  were.  He  came  to  talk  pasteurization,  prepared 
to  acquaint  us  with  it  as  a  novelty.  He  found  pasteurization  of  milk  carried 
on  in  all  the  big  San  Francisco  dairies.  He  found  dairy  conditions  in  San 
Francisco  better  than  in  New  York  or  Chicago.  We  owe  that  to  the  splendid 
work  done  by  the  last  few  Boards  of  Health  and  by  the  excellent  Milk  Com- 
mission headed  by  Dr.  Adelaide  Brown." 

Going  into  the  matter  a  bit  with  Colonel  Pippy,  I  found  that  the  San 
Francisco  dairies  are  really  in  advance  of  San  Francisco  milk  consumers. 
The  ordinary  consumer  of  milk  thinks  that  certified  milk  is  the  last  word  in 
pure  milk.  Certified  milk  is  an  excellent  thing,  there  is  no  gainsaying  that.  But 
pasteurized  milk  is  better.  The  cows  that  give  the  milk  which  is  certified  by 
the  Milk  Commission  are  examined  twice  a  year.  The  milk  is  handled  by 
machinery  which  eliminates  every  possibility  of  contamination.  The  dairies 
from  which  the  certified  milk  comes  are  models  of  sanitation ;  the  working- 
men  must  be  spotlessly  clean.  Still,  there  is  the  chance  that  a  cow  may 
develop  disease  in  the  interval  between  the  two  semi-annual  examinations. 
There  is  no  danger  of  this  sort  with  pasteurized  milk,  for  the  pasteurization 
destroys  all  germs;  and  so  far  from  hurting,  really  improves  the  flavor  of  the 
milk.  Pasteurization  is  the  more  scientific  method  of  insuring  the  consumer 
that  he  is  buying  pure  milk.  Yet  pasteurized  milk  is  cheaper  than  certified 
milk.  Nathan  Strauss  rashly  took  it  for  granted  that  pasteurization  had  not 
reached  this  extremity  of  the  world.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  has  been  prac- 
ticed here  by  all  the  big  dairies  for  several  years.  So  Strauss  preached  his 
gospel  superfluously  and  denounced  unjustly. 

Colonel  Pippy  is  very  proud  of  his  milk  business.  When  he  comes  up 
from  San  Mateo  in  the  morning  he  motors  out  to  his  dairy  in  Franklin  street 
before  going  to  his  law  office  downtown.  But  he  exercises  only  a  general 
supervision.  The  dairy  is  run  by  a  scientific  milkman  graduated  from  the 
Colleee  of  Agriculture  of  the  University. 

"I  thought  I  knew  a  lot  about  milk,"  remarked  Colonel  Pippy,  "but  I 
changed  my  mind  when  Armstrong  took  hold.  He's  a  wonder." 

239 


VARIED     TYPES 

Colonel  Pippy  wasn't  afraid  to  let  Armstrong  hear  this  encomium.  He 
seems  to  be  on  excellent  terms  with  his  men.  For  the  matter  of  that  he's  on 
excellent  terms  with  the  whole  world. 

"One  great  thing  in  life,"  he  says,  "is  to  be  able  to  look  the  other  fellow 
in  the  eye.  But  there's  a  greater  thing  than  that — to  be  able  to  go  to  the 
mirror  and  look  yourself  straight  in  the  eye." 

When  the  Colonel  does  this  latter  thing  (and  I'm  quite  sure  he's  not 
afraid  to),  he  inspects  a  pair  of  clear  blue  eyes  full  of  kindliness  and  good 
humor.  There  can't  be  anything  very  wrong  with  the  man  who  regards  the 
world  through  those  eyes.  They  are  in  fact  the  windows  of  a  charitable  soul. 
What  Colonel  Pippy  does  from  day  to  day  to  relieve  distress,  to  help  the  weak 
who  cannot  help  themselves,  to  bring  a  little  cheer  to  the  cheerless  is  none 
of  your  business  or  mine.  I  happen  to  know  that  he  does  a  good  deal  in  this 
way,  having  stumbled  on  the  information  by  accident  some  time  ago. 

Like  all  happy  men  Colonel  Pippy  is  on  the  go  all  the  time.  When  he's 
not  in  his  law  office  or  his  dairy  or  performing  a  deed  of  kindness  or  attending 
a  banquet  (the  Colonel  is  one  of  our  most  assiduous  prandialists),  he  is 
thinking  up  some  new  scheme  to  advance  the  cause  for  which  the  Home 
Industry  League  stands.  Colonel  Pippy  organized  the  Home  Industry 
League  and  is  proud  of  it.  He  doesn't  agree  with  those  who  think  that  it 
will  build  a  wall  around  California  and  isolate  us  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 
But  he  sees  no  reason  why  money  which  can  be  spent  to  advantage  in  Cali- 
fornia should  be  sent  out  of  the  State.  The  Home  Industry  League,  he  tells 
me,  has  saved  millions  of  dollars  from  going  East.  One  instance  is  typical. 
He  obtained  from  the  United  States  Government  an  order  for  two  hundred 
thousand  pairs  of  shoes  for  soldiers  at  three  dollars  a  pair.  Considering  that 
the  leather  is  produced  here,  why  shouldn't  the  shoes  be  made  here?  That 
was  his  argument,  and  he  succeeded  in  convincing  the  War  Department  that 
it  was  a  good  argument. 

I  spent  the  better  part  of  a  morning  with  Colonel  Pippy,  studying  his 
dairy,  his  whiskers  and  his  personality  at  close  range.  For  his  dairy  I  have 
a  great  admiration ;  for  his  personality  a  great  deal  of  esteem  ;  and  as  for  his 
whiskers,  there  is  really  nothing  to  be  said  against  them.  Having  reached 
this  conclusion  as  I  was  leaving  Colonel  Pippy,  I  absent-mindedly  said  out 
loud: 

"They're  all  right,  Colonel." 

"What's  that?"  he  said. 

"You're  all  right,  Colonel,"  I  covered  up. 

"Thanks,"  he  smiled,  giving  my  hand  a  hearty  milk-shake. 


240 


WILLIS  POLK 


'IFE  has  its  compensations  after  all.  It  is  not  all  a  dusty 
^V^  highway  with  no  roadhouse  in  sight.  If  you  keep  pushing  on 
£j£  through  the  brambly  brake  you  are  sure  to  reach  the  grassy 
glade.  After  the  very  worst  of  roads  your  sixty-horse-power 
car  is  apt  to  strike  a  stretch  of  macadam.  The  most  irre- 
sponsible of  borrowers  sometimes  pays  you  back.  But  hold 
— we  are  not  here  to  listen  to  a  sermon  of  apothegmatic 
bromides.  Our  business  is  with  Willis  Polk,  so  let  us  not 
be  betrayed  by  our  penchant  for  moralizing  into  forgetfulness  of  our  first 
proposition  which  may  be  restated  thus :  Willis  Polk,  if  he  chose,  could  pen 
a  very  interesting  sequel  to  Emerson's  justly  celebrated  essay  on  Com- 
pensations. 

For  on  this  current  Saturday  night  (February  25th,  1911,  the  date  of  the 
opening  of  the  new  Pacific-Union  Club),  Willis  Polk  will  be  wreathed  with 
the  jonquils  of  glory.  He  will  be  crowned,  metaphorically  of  course,  with 
the  oak  leaves  that  symoblize  victory  in  one  of  the  prettiest  architectural 
Marathons  ever  run.  After  having  been  roasted  to  a  turn  year  after  year 
he  will  be  toasted  in  vintage  wines.  After  having  been  boiled  in  oil,  again 
metaphorically,  the  hinges  of  his  self-esteem  will  be  lubricated  with  the  salve 
of  laudation.  After  having  been  knocked  he  will  be  slapped  on  the  back; 
after  having  been  consigned  to  the  pit  of  Tophet  he  will  be  raised  on  the 
wings  of  oratory  propelled  by  the  breath  of  postprandial  hot-air  to  the 
brilliant  heights  of  Paradise  where  he  may  look  down  on  the  roof  of  his 
tallest  skyscraper.  Not  to  keep  you  guessing,  Willis  Polk  is  to  be  a  guest 
of  honor  at  the  Pacific-Union  Club  banquet. 

Just  picture  that  pretty  scene.  Visualize  Willis  Polk,  his  starched 
bosom  swelling  with  pride  and  undigested  compliments,  his  eye  flashing  with 
exaltation  and  champagne,  rising  to  address  the  assemblage  of  gout,  chalk- 
stones,  corpulence  and  filthy  lucre  known  as  the  Pacific-Union  Club.  Before 
him  and  about  him  in  that  beautiful  hall  of  paneled  English  walnut  Dives 
is  spooning  up  his  bisque  Tortoni  and  Midas  is  draining  his  Cordon  Rouge. 
He  sees  here  a  malefactor  of  great  wealth  who  used  to  call  him  a  "bum 
architect;"  he  glimpses  there,  through  the  fragrant  haze  of  fat  regalias,  a 
captain  of  industry  who  prophesied  that  he  "couldn't  come  back."  And  as 
the  applause  that  greeted  his  rising  dies  away  he  flourishes  his  serviette  in 
a  gesture  of  modest  depreciation  and  launches  into  an  exposition  of  how  it 
all  happened. 

You  will  admit  that  it  is  not  every  architect  who  is  commissioned  to 
build  a  million-dollar  club  for  effete  and  blase  millionaires.  You  will  concede 
that  not  every  architect  so  commissioned  would  go  to  the  trouble  of  knocking 
a  couple  of  piffling  hundred  thousands  off  the  original  cost.  And  you  will 

241 


VARIED    TYPES 

not  gainsay  the  observation  that  when  the  architect  who  does  this  is  one 
who  never  went  to  school,  who  first  learned  how  to  build  and  afterwards 
found  out  why  it  was  done  thus  and  not  otherwise,  who  was  stigmatized  as 
a  dreamer  without  practical  ideas  and  an  idealist  without  business  sagacity — 
that  such  an  architect,  filling  the  foreground  of  such  a  picture  as  that  which 
I  have  endeavored  to  sketch,  has  every  right  in  the  world  to  feel  as  though 
he  has  not  lived  in  vain.  And  that  just  about  represents  the  sentiment  that 
is  permeating  Willis  Polk  at  the  present  writing. 

Architects  are  not  unlike  other  professional  men.  Jealousy  is  not 
absolutely  unknown  among  them.  For  the  man  who  rises  from  the  ranks 
they  are  apt  to  entertain  a  less  kindly  feeling  than  for  the  man  who  is 
accredited  from  a  college.  They  bow  their  heads  reverently  if  you  come 
from  the  Beaux  Arts  and  wag  them  derisively  if  you  come  from  the 
carpenter's  bench.  Academic  training  is  their  badge  of  caste  and  Willis 
Polk  never  had  any  academic  training  worth  boasting  about.  Yet  he 
sympathizes  with  the  peculiar  ply  of  his  architectural  brethren  to  the  extent 
of  admitting  that  five  years  of  collegiate  instruction  would  have  saved  him 
ten  of  mighty  hard  sledding. 

Polk  came  into  the  world  in  strict  accordance  with  specifications  in 
Kentucky  in  1865.  About  his  only  equipment  for  the  subsequent  struggle 
was  a  class  A  reinforced  determination,  first  of  all  to  help  his  family  and  in 
the  second  place,  to  make  a  name  for  himself.  His  father  had  been  an 
architect  but  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Rebellion  he  rolled  up  his  blueprints, 
tossed  them  on  the  shelf  and  donned  a  gray  uniform.  He  came  out  of  the 
struggle  with  inflammatory  rheumatism  and  an  empty  exchequer  and  when 
Willis  was  seven  years  old  the  family  moved  to  St.  Louis.  To  help  support 
the  family  he  sold  newspapers,  ran  errands,  was  a  cash  boy,  did  anything  in 
fact  that  would  bring  in  a  little  money.  He  says  he  was  a  good  newsboy 
and  sold  a  hundred  papers  every  Sunday  morning.  At  the  age  of  eleven  his 
father  went  to  Hot  Springs  for  the  alleviation  of  his  rheumatism  and  took 
Willis  along.  There  father  and  son  collaborated  on  a  building  and  as  you 
stroll  down  Central  avenue  in  Hot  Springs  you  may  still  see  the  "Iron 
Block,"  the  first  fruit  of  young  Folk's  architectural  exertion.  Two  years 
later,  at  the  mature  age  of  thirteen,  Willis  saw  an  advertisement  for  bids  for 
a  new  school  house  at  Hope,  Arkansas.  He  took  a  chance  and  got  the 
contract.  He  not  only  drew  the  plans  but  also  worked  as  a  carpenter  and 
stonemason  in  the  erection  of  that  modest  temple  of  learning.  From  that 
time  on  he  was  a  sure-enough  "architect  and  builder"  and  did  a  good  deal  of 
work  in  Arkansas  and  Texas.  In  1885  he  went  to  Boston  where  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  meet  Henry  Van  Brunt,  one  of  the  country's  great  architects, 
and  in  Van  Brunt's  office  he  began  to  learn  something  of  the  principles  of 
architecture.  Through  Van  Brunt  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Professor 
William  R.  Ware  who  occupied  the  chair  of  architecture  at  Columbia.  So 
he  drifted  to  New  York  and  cultivated  Professor  Ware,  sitting  with  him  night 
after  night  to  absorb  architectural  lore  and  occasionally  attending  his  lectures. 
He  used  to  occupy  a  little  hall  bedroom  on  a  Box  and  Cox  arrangement. 
One  day  his  fellow-lodger  came  into  the  room  and  insisted  that  he  get  up 

242 


WILLIS    POLK 


WILLIS     POLK 

so  that  he,  the  fellow-lodger,  might  go  to  bed.  That  was  his  introduction  to 
Oliver  Herford,  wit  and  writer,  and  their  subsequent  intimacy  developed 
in  Polk  a  facility  for  saying  sharp  truths  that  has  helped  to  make  him  many 
enemies — and  many  friends.  Stanford  White  and  Augustus  St.  Gaudens 
were  not  famous  in  those  days  and  young  Polk  used  to  pal  with  them.  To 
the  end  of  their  lives  this  intimate  association  continued.  In  1889  he  came 
to  San  Francisco,  just  about  the  time  that  Architecture  struck  the  town. 
Previous  to  that  the  "architecture"  of  our  buildings,  barring  a  few  homes  on 
Nob  Hill  and  Pacific  Heights,  was  of  the  jigsaw  variety.  We  built  first  and 
then  ordered,  our  "architecture"  from  a  planing  mill.  Conditions  were 
changing  when  Willis  Polk  arrived  here,  but  the  change  did  not  do  him  a 
great  deal  of  good.  He  had  plenty  of  time  to  cultivate  his  artistic  sense,  but 
few  opportunities  to  practice  his  profession.  When  he  did  get  a  job  a  lot 
of  the  other  architects  stood  around  and  explained  how  little  they  thought  of 
him.  Their  explanations  did  not  worry  Polk  and  he  gave  as  good  as  he 
received.  With  artists  of  all  sorts  he  was  popular  and  in  '93  he  helped 
organize  the  famous  "Roseleaves,"  a  coterie  of  Bohemian  clubmen  which 
included  Dan  O'Connell,  Denis  O'Sullivan,  Ned  Townsend,  Charles  Rollo 
Peters,  Pete  Bigelow,  Joe  Redding  and  other  choice  spirits.  There  was  lots 
of  gray  matter  in  that  crowd  but  no  money,  a  fact  which  was  attested  by 
the  celebrated  suit  of  Commodore  Harrison  versus  the  Roseleaves  for  the 
rent  of  the  yacht  Frolic,  a  suit  in  which  most  of  the  millionaires  in  town 
were  made  co-defendants  with  the  poverty-stricken  Bohemians.  About  the 
same  time  Polk  became  something  of  a  newspaperman,  contributing  to  the 
Sunday  and  weekly  papers  and  distinguishing  himself  by  scooping  the  State 
on  the  first  hold-up  of  Evans  and  Sontag. 

The  year  '97  was  a  particularly  hard  year  for  Polk  and  he  spent  most  of 
it  in  seclusion  from  bill  collectors  drawing  a  plan  for  a  wonderful  peristyle 
and  arch  approach  to  the  Ferry  Building  from  Market  street.  Polk  has 
that  drawing  yet.  He  says  a  great  artist  once  declared  that  it  was  the 
biggest  pen  and  ink  drawing  in  the  world — a  dubious  sort  of  compliment  when 
you  come  to  think  it  over.  However,  that  work  got  Polk  interested  in 
schemes  for  municipal  adornment  and  when  he  went  to  Chicago  in  1900  to 
join  D.  H.  Burnham's  architectural  force,  he  carried  a  lot  of  ideas  which 
found  a  sympathetic  lodgment  in  Burnham's  mind,  for  Burnham  has  always 
made  a  hobby  of  just  that  sort  of  thing. 

When  Polk  left  San  Francisco  all  the  architects  said  he  would  never 
come  back  and  when  he  came  here  with  Burnham  in  1906  they  added  that 
he  couldn't  come  back.  When  Burnham  made  him  the  business  manager  of 
his  local  office,  they  chortled  at  the  joke  of  the  thing;  when  Burnham  made 
him  a  partner,  they  simply  held  their  sides;  when  Burnham  turned  over  his 
local  business  to  him,  they  began  to  sit  up  and  take  notice. 

In  the  past  four  years  Polk  has  erected  buildings  of  a  total  value  of 
more  than  eight  million  dollars,  so  the  architects  are  beginning  to  revise 
their  early  ideas  about  him.  Of  course  not  all  the  architects  joined  in  the 
symphony  of  dispraise,  so  not  all  the  architects  find  it  necessary  to  recant. 

But  when  Polk  sits  at  that  banquet  board  in  the  club  which  he  built, 

245 


VARIED    TYPES 

maybe  there  won't  be  a  few  of  his  fellow  craftsmen  who  will  squirm  in  their 
seats — if  they  are  fortunate  enough  to  attend — when  the  toastmaster, 
consulting  his  notes  or  his  pencilled  cuff,  introduces  "a  man  who  is  fit  to  be 
compared  with  the  great  Vitruvius,  a  man  who  continues  the  glorious 
traditions  of  the  brilliant  school  of  Brunelleschi  and  Sansovino,  a  man  whose 
name  will  go  ringing  down  the  ages  with  the  names  of  Bramante  and 
Vignola  and  Palladio,  aye,  with  the  immortal  name  of  Michel-Angelo. 
Gentlemen,  our  architect,  Willis  Polk."  Prolonged  applause  followed  by 
"He's  a  Jolly  Good  Fellow." 


246 


A.  M.  ROBERTSON 


S2 


I 


N  THE  mind  of  the  ordinary  man  a  publisher  and  book- 
seller is  apt  to  be  classed  as  a  highbrow.  He  is  thought 
of  as  one  detached  from  the  common  activities,  out  of 
sympathy  with  the  general  interests  of  life.  He  is  pictured 
as  a  myopic  old  soul  whose  horizon  is  bounded  by  learned 
volumes,  whose  nostrils  perpetually  snuff  the  musty  odor 
of  antique  morocco,  whose  brow  bulges  with  the  lore  of 
first  editions  and  other  loads  of  learned  lumber.  He  is 
supposed  to  live  only  in  the  classic  past,  or  if  at  all  in  the  present,  only  in 
the  present  of  literature.  There  is  no  doubt  that  lots  of  publishers  and 
booksellers  justify  this  notion.  Lots  of  them  are  highbrows  and  nothing 
more.  We  have  some  such  in  San  Francisco.  But  Aleck  Robertson  is  not 
one  of  them. 

It  may  surprise  many  people  who  never  meet  Aleck  Robertson  outside 
his  bookshop  on  Union  Square  to  learn  that  he  is  much  more  interested  in 
politics  than  in  book  publishing  or  bookselling.  It  may  startle  them  to  be 
told  that  he  would  rather  talk  elections  than  first  editions.  But  that's  the 
fact.  If  Aleck  Robertson  gets  started  talking  politics,  I  defy  anybody  to 
switch  the  conversation  to  books.  Broach  the  subject  of  William  Jennings 
Bryan  to  him  and  then  try  to  branch  off  to  George  Sterling.  You  can't  do 
it.  Poetry  is  all  right  in  its  place,  but  when  it  comes  to  discussing  poetry 
to  the  exclusion  of  politics,  Robertson  is  not  with  you. 

In  the  old  days  of  conventions  and  bosses  Robertson  was  deep  in 
politics.  But  nobody  ever  accused  him  of  being  any  man's  man.  Fighting 
bosses  was  his  favorite  sport.  It  would  be  a  safe  wager  that  when  Robert- 
son was  a  candidate  for  the  Democratic  nomination  for  Congress  in  the  fifth 
district  he  got  more  fun  out  of  his  defeat  than  he  derived  from  the  com- 
panionship of  all  the  poets  whose  books  he  has  published.  Highbrowing  is 
all  right  in  its  place,  thinks  Robertson,  but  man  was  not  made  for  books 
alone.  ;  v  *! 

But  of  course  one  doesn't  go  to  Robertson  to  hear  his  panegyrics  on 
the  Peerless  One  or  his  opinion  of  the  local  campaign.  The  very  difficulty 
of  getting  Robertson  to  talk  books  heightens  the  desire  of  drawing  him  out. 
The  well  nigh  insuperable  objection  he  has  to  dilating  on  his  own  publica- 
tions makes  it  worth  while  to  wring  from  him  a  few  opinions  about  the 
men  and  women  whose  lucubrations  carry  his  imprint. 

Glancing  over  a  catalogue  of  Robertson's  publications — and  he  has 
probably  published  more  original  works  than  any  other  man  west  of  the 
Rockies — one  is  struck  by  the  unity  of  his  output.  With  two  or  three 
trifling  exceptions  everything  he  has  published  relates  closely  to  California. 
I  asked  him  what  rule  governed  his  selections. 

247 


VARIED     TYPES 

"I  don't  allow  myself  to  be  governed  by  the  moneymaking  considera- 
tion," he  explained,  "but  it  is  my  endeavor  to  put  in  permanent  form,  as 
far  as  1  am  able,  the  works  of  our  men  of  ability.  1  try  to  publish  nothing 
that  is  just  for  the  day.  1  confine  myself  to  bringing  out  books  that  might 
possibly  appeal  to  people  fifty  or  one  hundred  years  from  now.  1  try  to 
avoid  what  is  trivial  and  ephemeral.  The  books  I've  published,  with  three 
or  four  exceptions,  have  been  written  here  in  California,  i  strive  in  my  way 
to  benefit  the  State  and  to  provide  an  avenue  to  the  public  for  the  authors 
who  live  in  our  midst." 

What  Robertson  says  about  subordinating  the  moneymaking  consider- 
ation is  strictly  true.  Mrs.  Katharine  Osbourne  told  me  of  a  characteristic 
instance.  When  she  had  prepared  for  the  press  her  book  about  Stevenson's 
life  in  California,  she  took  the  manuscript  to  Robertson  and  asked  him  to 
publish  it.  When  he  had  read  it  he  told  her,  "This  is  a  bigger  thing  than 
you  realize.  It  is  a  work  which  ought  to  be  published  by  one  of  the  eastern 
houses  with  good  English  connections,  so  that  it  may  receive  the  publicity 
to  which  it  is  entitled."  And  he  forthwith  made  arrangements  for  Mrs. 
Osbourne  to  have  the  book  published  by  McClurg.  Needless  to  say  it 
would  have  been  a  moneymaker  for  Robertson. 

Running  through  a  list  of  Robertson's  publications,  many  of  them  now 
out  of  print,  one  realizes  what  a  representative  gathering  he  has  sponsored. 

Among  the  poets  are  George  Sterling,  Daniel  O'Connell,  Louis  Robert- 
son, Joaquin  Miller,  Lionel  Josaphare,  Edwin  Markham  and  Clark  Ashton 
Smith. 

"We  are  too  close  to  Sterling  to  know  how  big  he  is,"  said  Robertson 
when  I  had  induced  him  to  forget  that  he  was  a  publisher  and  to  turn 
reluctant  critic.  "Men  who  ought  to  know  say  he  is  the  greatest  poet  of 
today.  He  is  certainly  attracting  more  and  more  attention  all  the  time.  I 
think  'The  Testimony  of  the  Suns'  is  his  greatest  poem. 

"Of  all  the  poets  whose  works  I  have  published  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
two  who  appeal  most  to  the  heart  of  the  average  man  are  Daniel  O'Connell 
and  Louis  Robertson.  O'Connell  will  always  rank  high  in  California  liter- 
ature. What  could  be  more  beautiful  than  his  'Chamber  of  Sleep'  or  'Sweet- 
hearts and  Wives'?  Robertson  was  a  master  in  the  depiction  of  passion. 
He  knew  life  from  the  topmost  pinnacle  down.  Think  of  'Ataxia'  and  'The 
Dead  Calypso.'  Swinburne  was  a  child  compared  to  him. 

"In  the  imaginative  quality  Josaphare  is  the  greatest  of  our  poets.  Some 
of  his  best  poems  are  in  'Turquoise  and  Iron,'  such  as  the  'Sonnet  to  My 
Inkwell,'  'The  Winged  Heart'  and  'The  Splendid  Earth.'  The  book  is  out 
of  print. 

"I  published  the  first  edition  of  'The  Man  with  the  Hoe'  which  was 
written  at  the  psychological  moment  and  made  Edwin  Markham.  I  also 
published  Joaquin  Miller's  'As  It  Was  in  the  Beginning'  which  is  a  remark- 
able work.  Then  there  is  Charles  Keeler.  I  think  his  best  poem  is  'The 
Dreamer  and  the  Doer'  in  'Idylls  of  El  Dorado.'  Christian  Binckley's 
'Sonnets  from  a  House  of  Days'  was  poetry  of  the  purest  sort.  It  didn't 
receive  the  attention  it  deserved.  I  published  Herman  Scheffauer's  first 

248 


A.     M.    ROBERTSON 


A.     M.    ROBERTSON 

poems.  Then  there  was  Grace  Hibbard  who  wrote  pretty  verses,  and 
Lorenzo  Sosso  who  has  gone  into  insurance.  Stanley  Coghill's  'Hathor' 
gave  great  promise  and  1  published  it  at  the  request  of  froiessor  Kurtz. 
Coghill  is  now  dead.  Then  there  is  Arthur  W.  Ryder's  'Women's  Eyes/ 
translated  from  the  Sanskrit.  Benjamin  Ide  Wheeler  who  is  himself  a  poet 
and  a  Sanskrit  scholar  told  me  when  that  appeared  that  I  had  published 
the  finest  verse  translation  from  the  Sanskrit  that  America  could  boast  of. 
I  published  the  poems  of  Samuel  J.  Alexander  and  of  that  remarkable  boy 
Clark  Ashton  Smith.  Then  there  are  the  poems  of  Dr.  Taylor  and  'The 
Soul's  Rubaiyat'  of  Mrs.  Truesdell." 

This  is  a  list  of  which  Robertson  may  well  be  proud.  But  of  course  he 
hasn't  confined  himself  to  the  poets. 

"For  genuine  humor  'The  Hoot  of  the  Owl'  by  Behr  of  the  Academy  of 
Sciences  stands  first  among  my  publications,"  he  says.  "For  literature  pure 
and  simple  there  is  Delmas'  Speeches.  The  first  novel  of  college  life  in 
California  ever  written  was  Joy  Lichtenstein's  'For  the  Blue  and  the  Gold.' 
The  Boston  Transcript  reveiwer  said  that  nowhere  had  he  ever  read  a  better 
account  of  a  football  game.  Then  there  is  Peter  Robertson's  'The  Seedy 
Gentleman,'  all  that  remains  in  permanent  form  of  a  lifetime  devoted  to 
dramatic  criticism.  I  published  two  of  Charles  Warren  Stoddard's  books, 
'In  the  Footprints  of  the  Padres,'  one  of  the  best  selling  books  I  have  ever 
had,  and  the  novel  'For  the  Pleasure  of  His  Company'  which  is  simply  part 
of  Stoddard's  biography.  Every  character  in  it  was  taken  from  real  life. 
Stevenson  is  there  and  Ina  Coolbrith  and  some  of  the  old  'Golden  Era' 
people.  Then  there  is  a  volume  of  Bierce  and  the  work  on  our  earthquake 
edited  by  David  Starr  Jordan  which  critics  say  is  the  standard  book  on 
the  disaster.  The  contributors  were  all  specialists  on  the  subject.  The 
Bibliography  of  the  Chinese  Question  by  Cowan  and  Dunlap  is  said  to  be 
one  of  the  best  bibliographies  produced  in  America.  It  has  gone  into  all 
the  libraries.  There  is  also  John  McLaren's  'Gardening  in  California/  the 
standard  work  on  its  subject.  Mrs.  Sanchez'  'Spanish  and  Indian  Place 
Names  of  California'  covered  ground  which  had  scarcely  been  touched." 

Robertson  mentioned  many  others  works  of  more  recent  date,  for  once 
he  is  persuaded  to  talk  about  his  publications  he  doesn't  like  to  slight  any 
of  them,  but  I  have  referred  to  enough  to  prove  that  California  owes  him  a 
great  deal.  Take  away  the  books  which  I  have  mentioned  and  you  leave 
a  great  emptiness  in  our  literature. 

Nearly  all  his  working  life  Robertson  has  been  in  the  book  business, 
but  his  love  for  more  active  pursuits  which  finds  its  outlet  in  politics  was 
inherited  from  his  father.  His  father  William  D.  Robertson,  a  Highland 
Scot,  crossed  the  plains  to  California  in  1849  at  the  age  of  twenty-one.  He 
was  one  of  our  pioneer  inventors  and  mining  men.  He  was  superintendent 
of  the  famous  Sheba  and  De  Soto  mines  at  Star,  Nevada,  when  Mark  Twain 
visited  that  camp  and  described  it  in  "Roughing  It."  He  invented  the  first 
track-laying  machine  ever  used  and  demonstrated  its  practicability  by  laying 
track  for  the  California  Pacific  between  Suisun  and  Vallejo. 

Aleck  was  born  in  Ontario,  but  came  here  in  1863.     He  went  to  school 

251 


VARIED     TYPES 

on  Telegraph  Hill  and  afterwards  attended  the  old  Washington  and  Lincoln 
Grammar  schools,  both  of  which  number  many  well  known  San  Franciscans 
among  their  students.  In  later  years,  with  Thomas  Burns  of  the  United 
States  Sub-Treasury  he  organized  the  Lincoln  Grammar  School  Association 
whose  banquet  on  Lincoln's  Birthday  is  one  of  the  memorable  yearly 
gatherings  in  this  city. 

When  young  Robertson  found  it  necessary  to  go  to  work,  he  was 
given  a  place  in  the  bookshop  of  I.  N.  Choynski,  the  father  of  the  pugilist, 
whom  old  timers  remember  as  a  remarkable  man.  There  and  in  the  book 
stores  of  C.  Beach  and  Billings,  Harbourne  and  Co.  with  whom  he  was 
associated,  he  met  the  most  distinguished  men  who  lived  or  sojourned  in 
San  Francisco.  In  his  hours  of  leisure  he  founded  with  Tom  Geary  and 
others  the  well  remembered  California  Boat  Club.  Then  there  was  an 
interval  when  he  went  adventuring  into  Arizona  and  New  Mexico.  On  his 
return  to  San  Francisco  he  opened  a  bookshop  of  his  own  and  has  been  at 
it  ever  since. 

Always  he  has  taken  a  keen  interest  in  politics.  When  Bryan  became 
nationally  famous  by  his  "cross  of  gold"  speech  Robertson  was  one  of  the 
first  Democrats  in  this  city  to  hail  him  as  a  leader.  He  gathered  together 
a  congenial  crowd  of  Democrats  at  the  Bohemian  Club  and  every  day  they 
made  Bryan  the  piece  de  resistance  at  luncheon.  Some  of  those  enthusiasts, 
Robertson  emphatically  included,  look  upon  the  Nebraskan  as  the  leader 
of  the  party. 

Although  a  Democrat  he  organized  with  Will  C.  Doble  the  remarkable 
Wilson  Republican  Club  which  was  undoubtedly  the  largest  political  club 
the  State  ever  had.  Its  influence  may  be  read  in  the  vote  Woodrow  Wilson 
received  in  California. 

"I  have  always  been  opposed  to  bossism,"  says  Robertson,  intensely 
serious,  tapping  an  accompaniment  to  his  words  with  a  lead  pencil.  "But 
I  believe  in  political  leaders.  A  political  leader  is  one  who  uses  his  power 
for  the  good  of  the  community.  The  greatest  leader  we  have  in  the  party 
is  Bryan.  Now  there's  a  man  who — 

And  Aleck  Robertson  forgets  books  while  he  lays  down  the  law  of 
simon-pure  Democracy  as  he  has  laid  it  down  any  time  these  last  twenty 
years. 


252 


RENNIE  P.  SCHWERIN 


E  ARE  all  aware  that  the  superlatively  sapient  statesmen 
who  sit  and  legislate  in  Washington  enacted  a  law  prohibit- 
ing steamers  owned  or  controlled  by  railroad  companies  from 
passing  through  the  Panama  Canal.  We  shouldn't  be  very 
well  posted  San  Franciscans  if  we  didn't  also  know  that  the 
Pacific  Mail  Steamship  Company  is  controlled  by  the 
Southern  Pacific,  the  railroad  owning  a  majority  of  the 
steamship  stock.  And  we  shouldn't  be  very  gifted  in  the 
matter  of  logic  if  we  didn't  immediately  infer  that  the  Pacific  Mail  is  debarred 
by  the  law  aforesaid  from  engaging  in  passenger  or  freight  business  through 
the  Panama  Canal. 

Of  course  we  know  all  this;  it's  a  matter  of  recent  history.  The 
remarkable  point  is  that  we  are  in  nowise  disturbed  about  it.  We  lavish  on 
the  situation  no  particle  of  regret.  We  don't  appear  to  give  a  hang.  More 
than  that,  we  didn't  give  a  hang  when  the  situation  was  in  the  making.  In 
cold  fact,  certain  cits  of  ours  who  are  never  spoken  of  as  anything  except 
"representative"  and  "prominent"  cits  created  the  situation.  It's  their  work, 
and  they're  proud  of  it. 

But  what  does  it  mean  to  San  Francisco?    Is  it  a  good  or  a  bad  thing? 
I  went  up  to  the  beautiful  office  in  the  Flood  Building  whence  Rennie  P. 
Schwerin  directs  the  ships  that  lace  our  port  to  the  Orient  and  Latin  America, 
and  I  asked  him  as  president  of  the  Pacific  Mail : 
"How  about  it?" 

Schwerin  is  a  prominent  citizen  or  a  very  bad  man,  according  to  the 
slant  of  light  in  which  you  view  him.  To  certain  gentlemen  of  the  Chamber 
of  Commerce  he  is  an  exceedingly  wicked  person.  I  must  confess  that  I 
do  not  share  that  opinion  with  the  perspicacious  chamberites.  I  have  seen 
Schwerin  in  action  when  he  hit  hard  from  the  witness  stand  at  inquisitors 
who  were  pounding  savagely  at  his  own  armor.  He's  used  to  that  kind  of 
battle,  and  I  rather  suspect  he  likes  it.  But  in  his  office  he  is  a  soft-voiced, 
dispassionate  expositor  of  what's  what  with  the  trained  thinker's  penchant 
for  reinforcing  his  statements  with  official  records.  And  when  I  asked  him : 
"How  about  it?"  he  said: 

"It's  history  now.  It's  done  and  can  never  be  undone.  The  water  has 
passed  over  the  dam  and  can't  be  brought  back." 

Nevertheless  Schwerin  was  willing  to  annotate  this  chapter  of  history, 
and  I  found  his  annotations  exceedingly  interesting.  I  should  call  them 
valuable  were  it  not  that  their  value  depends  on  the  moral  to  be  drawn  from 
them  by  our  business  men,  and  I'm  afraid  Schwerin  inoculated  me  with  some 
of  his  pessimistic  despair  of  our  business  men  ever  learning  anything. 

"The  hatchet  is  always  out  in  San  Francisco,"  said  Schwerin.     "The 

253 


VARIED    TYPES 

condition  in  that  respect  is  getting  worse  instead  of  better.  The  more  the 
people  get  together  and  yell,  'Show  the  San  Francisco  spirit/  the  worse 
things  seem  to  become.  There  are  more  hatchets  today  than  there  ever 
were.  Everybody  is  slashing  right  and  left." 

In  a  prominent  position  among  these  hatchetmen  of  San  Francisco 
Schwerin  places  the  members  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  who  were 
responsible  for  shutting  the  Pacific  Mail  out  of  the  Panama  Canal.  And  the 
Abou  Ben  Adhem  of  these  Chamber  of  Commerce  hatchetmen,  he  whose 
name  leads  all  the  rest,  in  the  opinion  of  Schwerin,  is  William  R.  Wheeler. 

"The  great  cry  has  been,  Build  up  the  mercantile  marine,"  said  Schwerin ; 
"and  I  raised  twelve  million  dollars  for  the  purpose  of  building  it  up.  The 
Chamber  of  Commerce  and  Mr.  Wheeler  used  every  effort  to  prevent  me. 
The  Pacific  Mail  intended  to  increase  its  fleet  by  the  construction  of  four 
thirty-seven  thousand  ton  steamers.  The  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  Mr. 
Wheeler  made  it  impossible  for  us  to  build  them.  These  ships  would  have 
engaged  in  traffic  between  the  Atlantic  seaboard  and  the  Orient  by  way  of 
San  Francisco.  That  traffic  was  necessary  if  the  Pacific  Mail  was  to  continue 
to  exist.  As  it  is  I  see  no  outlook  for  the  Pacific  Mail." 
"I  see  no  outlook  for  the  Pacific  Mail." 

There  is  an  ominous  sentence  for  the  hatchetmen  of  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce  to  ponder.  After  they  have  pondered  it  a  bit,  let  them  review 
their  work  and  settle  with  themselves  whether  it  was  good  or  bad. 

"Why  was  this  fight  made  by  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  Mr. 
Wheeler,  its  traffic  manager,  to  debar  steamers  controlled  by  railroads  from 
the  canal?  In  order  that  Mr.  Wheeler  by  a  grand  stand  play  might  show 
people  what  an  influence  he  could  wield.  The  Chamber  of  Commerce  and 
Mr.  Wheeler  are  responsible  for  that  law.  They  directed  the  public  opinion 
of  San  Francisco  in  favor  of  that  law  and  against  the  Pacific  Mail.  Mr. 
Wheeler  said  so  in  Washington. 

"Mr.  Wheeler  said  in  Washington  that  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  was 
unequivocally  and  unanimously  in  favor  of  the  prohibition  which  has  debarred 
the  Pacific  Mail  from  the  canal.  The  fight  was  initiated  here.  And  despite 
the  fact  that  President  Taft  was  very  anxious  that  those  four  ships  should 
be  built  in  order  that  direct  communication  twice  a  month  might  be  estab- 
lished between  New  York,  San  Francisco  and  the  Philippines,  the  bill  was 
passed. 

"What  will  be  the  result?  San  Francisco  will  lose  between  four  and 
five  million  dollars  a  year  which  we  would  have  expended  here  if  the  bill  had 
not  passed.  That  money  would  have  gone  into  all  our  business  channels. 
Besides  that  the  Pacific  Mail  would  have  handled  two  hundred  thousand 
passengers  a  year  who  would  spend  at  least  twenty-five  or  fifty  dollars  apiece 
in  San  Francisco.  As  it  is,  the  only  local  company  which  will  use  the  canal 
will  be  the  American-Hawaiian.  Captain  Matson  of  the  Matson  Navigation 
Company  said  he  had  arangements  all  made  to  put  on  a  fleet  of  ships,  but  I 
haven't  heard  of  any  contracts  being  made. 

"Of  course  our  four  steamers  will  not  be  built.  It  would  be  contrary  to 
the  law  to  use  them.  Even  if  we  could  use  them  it  would  be  impossible  to 

254 


RENNIE    P.     SCHWERIN 


RENNIE     P.     SCHWERIN 

raise  that  twelve  million  over  again.  You  can't  raise  twelve  millions  on 
a  proposition  requiring  the  strongest  arguments,  and  then  have  the  community 
act  as  it  did  and  still  expect  financiers  to  risk  their  money.  But  I  suppose 
Mr.  Wheeler  and  the  rest  wanted  to  show  their  power.  But  it's  pitiful,  isn't 
it? 

"Mr.  Wheeler  knows  as  much  about  the  steamship  business  as  you  do. 
Take  the  case  of  Bates  and  Chesebrough.  The  inability  of  the  California- 
Atlantic  to  continue  in  business  was  due  to  the  so-called  sea  level  rates  forced 
on  them  by  Mr.  Wheeler  through  his  representations  at  Washington.  Sea 
level  rates  are  not  based  on  any  one  man's  ideas  as  to  what  they  should  be 
or  on  theoretical  ideas  as  to  what  they  should  be.  They  are  based  on  the 
true  business  principle  that  the  servant  is  worthy  of  his  hire.  Freight  cannot 
be  sold  for  less  than  it  costs  any  more  than  the  goods  of  a  commercial  house 
can  if  the  house  is  to  continue  paying  its  obligations. 

"Mr.  Wheeler  told  the  congressional  committee  at  Washington  that 
the  Chamber  of  Commerce  was  unequivocally  and  unanimously  in  favor  of 
the  bill  that  debarred  the  Pacific  Mail  from  the  canal.  That  was  not  true. 
A  protest  against  that  attitude  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  was  forwarded 
to  Washington  by  some  of  the  leading  members  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce. 

"In  connection  with  that  protest  let  me  show  you  a  remarkable  telegram 
which  was  sent  to  Mr.  Wheeler  by  Mr.  James  K.  Lynch.  Mr.  Lynch  is 
president  of  the  First  National  Bank  and  chairman  of  the  traffic  bureau  of 
the  Chamber  of  Commerce.  The  telegram  was  read  in  the  Senate  by  Senator 
Works  who  made  a  very  bitter  speech  in  which  he  voiced  the  sentiments  of 
Mr.  Wheeler.  Here  it  is  in  the  Congressional  Record." 

So  I  read  the  following  telegram  : 

San  Francisco,  Cal.,  July  5,  1912. 
William  R.  Wheeler, 

New  Willard  Hotel,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Robbins  Mclntosh  and  other  members  of  executive  committee  think  best 
have  Congressman  Knowland  appear  as  guest  and  address  meeting  of  board 
of  directors  of  the  Chamber  on  the  9th.  We  all  feel  that  our  present  position 
is  a  good  one,  and  a  general  meeting  of  the  Chamber  at  this  time,  when  so 
many  are  out  of  town,  might  be  controlled  by  Pacific  Mail  henchmen,  who 
are  extraordinarily  active.  Have  seen  your  letter  to  Mann ;  congratulate  you 
again  on  the  work  you  have  accomplished.  The  lineup  of  signatures  to  protest 
is  amusing.  Leaders  are  firms  under  business  obligations  to  Pacific  Mail 
and  the  others  fall  for  bull  about  American  flag.  Would  just  as  easily  sign 
petition  on  the  other  side  if  asked.  Under  circumstances  don't  consider  it 
necessary  for  Teal  to  appear. 

JAMES  K.  LYNCH, 
Chairman  Traffic  Bureau,  Chamber  of  Commerce. 

"That  I  think  is  a  most  remarkable  telegram,"  continued  Mr.  Schwerin. 
"And  who  were  the  protestants  that  Mr.  Lynch  found  so  amusing?  Who 

257 


VARIED    TYPES 

were  the  henchmen  of  the  Pacific  Mail?  The  firms  under  obligations  to  the 
Pacific  Mail?  The  men  who  fell  for  the  bull  about  the  American  flag?  Here 
are  the  men  and  firms  which  signed  that  protest: 

"Dunham,  Carrigan  and  Hayden,  by  Andrew  Carrigan;  James  K.  Arms- 
by;  Captain  Barneson;  H.  M.  McAllister  of  Otis,  McAllister;  Louis  Getz  of 
Getz  Brothers;  L.  Blum  of  Roth,  Blum;  W.  B.  Webster,  vice-president  of 
the  Home  Industry  League;  John  Rosenfeld's  Sons,  by  Louis  Rosenfeld; 
the  Western  Fuel  Company,  by  James  B.  Smith ;  the  Union  Iron  Works,  by 
J.  J.  Tynan,  general  manager;  Edward  L.  Eyre;  H.  R.  Williar;  O.  Rich, 
manager  of  the  Palace  Hotel;  the  St.  Francis  Hotel,  by  James  Woods;  A.  C. 
Rulofson  Company;  the  Columbia  Steel  Company,  by  Charles  M.  Gunn, 
president;  George  E.  Dow  Pumping  Engine  Company;  Charles  Nelson 
Company,  by  James  Tyson ;  Northern  Redwood  Lumber  Company,  by  H. 
W.  Jackson,  president;  Consolidated  Lumber  Company,  by  James  Tyson, 
president;  Pacific  Telephone  and  Telegraph  Company,  by  Henry  T.  Scott; 
Mercantile  Trust  Company,  by  Henry  T.  Scott;  Charles  Templeton  Crocker; 
N.  C.  Bradley ;  Alaska  Packers  Association,  by  Henry  T.  Fortmann ;  McNab 
and  Smith;  Charles  R.  Allen. 

"Those  were  the  men  whom  Mr.  Lynch  in  his  very  remarkable  telegram 
described  as  henchmen  of  the  Pacific  Mail  and  men  who  would  fall  for  bull 
about  the  American  flag." 

Taking  all  this  into  consideration,  remembering  that  Schwerin  stated  in 
a  letter  to  Mr.  Robbins,  the  president  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  that 
"it  will  be  absolutely  impossible  to  continue  the  service  (of  the  Pacific  Mail) 
solely  between  San  Francisco  and  the  Oriental  ports;"  that  he  also  said  in 
the  same  letter  that  "the  only  way  we  can  continue  to  exist  is  by  operating 
from  the  Atlantic  seaboard  to  the  Orient;"  and  that  he  told  me,  "I  see  no 
outlook  for  the  Pacific  Mail" — considering  all  these  things,  would  it  not 
be  well  for  the  hatchetmen  of  San  Francisco  to  ask  themselves  whether  they 
have  done  well  or  ill? 

Not  that  it  will  do  the  Pacific  Mail  any  good  now.  At  this  writing 
(January,  1913)  the  damage  has  been  done  and  it  is  irreparable.  But  the 
hatchetmen  might  come  to  realize  in  time  that  the  weapon  of  the  highbinder 
is  out  of  place  in  the  business  world.  They  might  even  come  to  think  that 
Rennie  P.  Schwerin  is  not  such  a  wicked  man  after  all.  They  might, 
improbable  as  it  may  seem,  reach  the  conclusion  that  the  steamship  company 
which  has  kept  the  American  flag  flying  in  the  Pacific  against  the  heavily 
subsidized  British  and  Japanese  lines  was  not  indulging  in  "bull,"  as  Mr. 
Lynch  so  elegantly  put  it,  about  that  American  flag. 

But  let  us  drop  these  subjunctive  clauses  before  we  float  off  in  millennial 
dreams.  The  hatchets  are  still  sharp ;  the  hatchetmen  are  still  on  the  job. 
Rennie  P.  Schwerin  says  so,  and  he  ought  to  know. 


258 


JOSEPH  SCOTT 


j 


OE  SCOTT  breezed  up  from  Los  Angeles  one  day  with  an 
amazing  story  of  the  religious  bigotry  which  was  displayed 
during  the  municipal  election  of  1913  in  the  pueblo  of 
chemical  purity.  Some  of  the  things  he  told  would  be  un- 
believable if  they  came  from  a  less  reliable  man  than  Joe 
Scott.  But  nobody  who  knows  Joe  Scott,  and  that  includes 
a  great  many  people  in  this  city,  would  think  of  doubting  his 
veracity.  Joe  Scott  is  as  truthful  as  he  is  handsome,  which 
is  saying  a  great  deal.  With  his  silver  gray  hair,  his  clear  blue  eyes 
twinkling  under  heavy  black  brows,  his  swarthy  face  and  his  mobile  lips 
that  part  in  an  easy  smile  to  show  gleaming  white  teeth,  Joe  Scott  is  one 
of  the  best  looking  men  in  Los  Angeles.  And  in  certain  circles,  one  of  the 
best  liked.  You  can't  help  liking  Joe  Scott  when  you  observe  his  free  and 
easy  manner  and  hear  his  soft  brogue. 

Joe  Scott  had  served  for  eight  years  on  the  Los  Angeles  Board  of 
Education  and  had  been  president  of  the  board  for  five  years.  He  stood 
for  re-election  in  1913,  and  was  successful  after  a  most  remarkable  campaign. 
The  same  element  which  made  Rose  Mayor  returned  Joe  Scott  to  the  Board 
of  Education.  Both  Rose  and  Scott  encountered  the  opposition  of  the  same 
people. 

They  have  a  body  in  Los  Angeles  called  the  Ministerial  Union.  This 
consists  of  two  hundred  Protestant  ministers  who  claim  a  following  of  one 
hundred  thousand.  They  are  militant  denominationalists,  the  same  sort  of 
clergymen  as  are  so  offensively  active  in  San  Francisco  at  the  present  time. 
But  while  with  us  the  sensational  pulpit-pounders  make  a  nuisance  of  them- 
selves by  their  advocacy  of  such  things  as  the  redlight  abatement  law  and 
the  suppression  of  the  municipal  clinic,  in  Los  Angeles  they  manifest  a 
religious  intolerance  which  most  of  us  thought  had  disappeared  from 
Californian  politics  with  the  collapse  of  the  A.  P.  A. 

This  religious  intolerance  was  shown  before  the  Los  Angeles  primary 
election  when  the  Ministerial  Union  empowered  one  of  their  leaders  to 
choose  for  their  indorsement  a  ticket  of  candidates  for  the  Board  of 
Education.  The  clergyman  so  empowered  was  the  Rev.  James  A.  Geissinger, 
pastor  of  the  University  Methodist  Church. 

Among  the  members  of  the  Board  of  Education  who  were  candidates 
for  renomination  were  H.  W.  Frank,  a  Jew;  Mrs.  R.  L.  Craig,  a  Christian 
Scientist;  the  Rev.  R.  E.  Blight,  pastor  of  the  Good  Fellowship,  a  sort  of 
free-thinking  congregation ;  and  Joe  Scott,  a  Roman  Catholic. 

There  were  seven  candidates  to  be  nominated,  but  Dr.  Geissinger 
submitted  the  names  of  five  for  the  indorsement  of  the  Ministerial  Union. 
All  five  were  members  of  one  or  other  of  the  Protestant  sects  represented 


259 


VARIED    TYPES 

in  the  Union.  Advertisements  were  inserted  in  the  papers  asking  the  voters 
to  favor  these  five  candidates.  In  addition  the  advertisements  contained  the 
injunction :  "Don't  vote  for  Scott  or  Blight." 

"The  Ministerial  Union  would  not  indorse  Frank  because  he  was  a  Jew," 
says  Scott;  "it  would  not  indorse  Mrs.  Craig  because  she  was  a  Christian 
Scientist;  it  would  not  indorse  Blight  because  he  was  a  free-thinker;  and  it 
would  not  indorse  me  because  I  was  a  Catholic. 

"The  fight  on  me  started  from  a  peculiar  incident.  It  has  been  the 
custom  in  Los  Angeles  to  have  Protestant  ministers  officiate  at  the  commence- 
ment exercises  in  the  public  schools.  At  one  commencement  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Livingston,  a  Methodist  minister,  commended  the  graduates  to  the  protection 
of  Christ.  I  protested  against  this  on  behalf  of  those  children  who  were  not 
Christians,  taking  the  stand  that  the  Constitution  protected  the  Jews, 
agnostics  and  others  against  sectarian  prayer  in  the  public  schools.  Dr. 
Livingston  charged  me  with  sneering  at  religion  and  insulting  Christianity, 
and  declared  that  he  would  'put  me  out  of  business.'  I  offered  to  pay  $500 
to  the  Associated  Charities  if  he  could  prove  his  charge.  He  retorted  that 
he  didn't  suppose  I  possessed  $500,  but  he  made  an  affidavit  to  his  charges 
and  on  behalf  of  the  Ministerial  Union  declared  that  what  he  had  said  was 
justified. 

"I  protested  that  they  hadn't  given  me  the  chance  of  a  chicken  thief 
who  is  at  least  allowed  to  defend  himself  in  court,  and  offered  to  give  $1,000 
to  the  Associated  Charities  if  I  were  not  acquitted  of  Dr.  Livingston's  charge 
by  a  board  of  three  ministers,  a  Methodist,  a  Baptist  and  a  Congregationalist. 
But  at  this  stage  Dr.  Geissinger  declared  that  the  incident  was  closed. 
Whereupon  I  said  that  Dr.  Geissinger  was  a  coward  and  a  hypocrite  and  that 
I  considered  the  whole  thing  a  thrust  at  my  religion. 

"This  was  the  situation  just  before  the  primary  election.  The  Sunday 
before  the  election  Dr.  Geissinger  declared  from  the  pulpit  that  the  Ministerial 
Union  would  show  this  noisy  fellow  (meaning  me)  and  all  his  noisy 
following  that  the  religion  of  America  was  the  Protestant  religion.  He  also 
said  that  my  bump  of  religion  was  a  depression.  Another  member  of  the 
Union,  the  Rev.  J.  Whitcomb  Brougher,  a  clergyman  who  treats  his  con- 
gregation to  sermons  on  such  subjects  as  'The  bed  is  too  narrow  and  the 
sheets  are  too  long,'  declared  that  I  lacked  culture.  To  which  I  replied  that 
I  was  getting  tired  of  the  mental  peregrinations  of  peripatetic  preachers." 

Here  I  may  interject  that  Joe  Scott  is  a  graduate  of  the  famous  Ushaw 
College  in  England,  the  college  which  produced  Cardinal  Wiseman,  Cardinal 
Bourne,  John  Lingard  the  historian,  Francis  Thompson  the  poet,  and 
Wilfred  Ward,  the  biographer  of  Cardinal  Newman.  At  Ushaw  Cardinal 
Merry  Del  Val,  former  Papal  Secretary  of  State,  was  Joe  Scott's  French 
teacher;  and  there  is  probably  no  man  in  America  so  close  to  the  late  Pope 
Pius'  Secretary  of  State  as  Joe  Scott.  So  it  seems  unlikely  that  Joe  Scott 
should  be  totally  deficient  in  culture. 

"Another  preacher,"  continued  Scott,  "the  Rev.  Charles  Edward  Locke, 
declared  that  if  the  Catholics  were  looking  for  a  fight  they  would  get  all 
they  wanted.  Still  another  stated  that  the  Ministerial  Union  was  not  after 

260 


JOSEPH     SCOTT 


JOSEPH     SCOTT 

the  president  of  the  Board  of  Education  but  after  the  Catholic  heirarchy. 
One  of  the  charges  they  made  was  that  an  assistant  superintendent  of  schools 
smoked  cigarettes  and  patronized  saloons." 

At  the  primary  election  Scott  was  nominated  by  a  plurality  of  three 
thousand  votes  over  the  candidates  of  the  Ministerial  Union.  Mrs.  Craig, 
the  Christian  Scientist,  and  Frank,  the  Jew,  were  also  nominated. 

"On  the  night  of  the  primary,"  said  Scott,  "a  curious  incident  occurred. 
One  of  the  men  in  my  fight  rang  up  the  Rev.  Dr.  Locke,  and  pretending  to 
be  a  member  of  a  Baptist  congregation,  sympathized  with  him  on  my 
nomination.  'God  pity  the  children  if  Scott  gets  back  on  the  board/  said 
Locke.  Commenting  further  on  the  result  Locke  said  it  was  strange  that 
while  so  many  Los  Angeles  voters  had  been  reared  religiously  in  Nebraska, 
Iowa  and  Kansas,  when  they  came  to  Los  Angeles  they  refused  for  some 
reason  to  mix  religion  with  politics.  He  also  said  that  they  must  get  rid  of 
me,  and  added  the  remarkable  statement  that  the  only  way  to  fight  the 
Catholics  was  in  the  dark. 

"For  the  general  election  the  Ministerial  Union  indorsed  a  ticket  of  seven 
consisting  of  three  Socialists,  Mr.  Frank,  the  Jew,  the  president  of  the  W. 
C.  T.  U.  and  two  Methodists.  They  felt  that  they  had  made  a  tactical 
blunder  in  antagonizing  the  Jewish  voters.  But  they  continued  their 
opposition  to  Mrs.  Craig,  the  Christian  Scientist,  and  to  me. 

"I  was  elected  by  a  plurality  of  ten  thousand  over  their  candidates.  I  did 
not  owe  my  election  to  my  co-religionists.  They  make  only  a  small 
percentage  of  the  voters.  I  owe  my  election  to  that  element  in  Los  Angeles 
which  resents  the  idea  of  any  such  body  as  the  Ministerial  Union  controlling 
the  politics  of  the  city.  The  average  American  is  too  fair-minded  not  to 
rebuke  the  intolerance  of  the  bigot. 

"While  I  had  the  indorsement  of  the  Municipal  Conference  which  also 
indorsed  Shenk,  the  votes  I  received  were  principally  Rose  votes.  Thus  in 
one  precinct  I  received  212  out  of  250  Rose  votes  and  only  16  out  of  231 
Shenk  votes. 

"It  should  interest  San  Francisco  to  learn  that  the  Sunday  before  the 
election  a  spokesman  of  the  Ministerial  Union  declared  that  the  Ministerial 
Union  wanted  to  keep  Los  Angeles  on  the  high  moral  plane  to  which  it  had 
been  elevated  and  to  prevent  it  from  sinking  to  the  low  moral  plane  of  San 
Francisco  where  only  five  per  cent  of  the  population  attends  the  Protestant 
churches." 

Joe  Scott  tells  me  that  his  protest  against  Christian  prayers  in  commence- 
ment exercises  will  be  followed  by  other  attempts  to  eradicate  certain 
sectarian  customs  in  the  public  schools.  He  says  that  there  are  Bible  readings 
at  the  Los  Angeles  Normal  School,  and  that  all  pupils  must  attend  though 
they  are  not  compelled  to  participate  further  than  by  their  presence.  He 
says  that  in  South  Pasadena  and  Alhambra  those  who  apply  for  positions  as 
teachers  must  fill  out  a  blank  on  which  is  the  question :  What  church  do  you 
attend?  In  one  school  district,  he  says,  there  is  this  question  also:  If  given 
a  position  will  you  also  teach  Sunday  School? 

263 


DR.  GEORGE  FRANKLIN  SHIELS 


'HERE  had  been  talk  of  a  local  member  of  a  learned  profession 
^|  who  had  turned   a  shabby   trick  on   a   member  of  another 
profession.    Dr.  George  Franklin  Shiels  was  shocked,  shocked 
and  unfeignedly  grieved. 

"It  couldn't  have  happened  in  the  old  days  of  San  Fran- 
cisco," he  said,  slowly  shaking  his  head.  "Why,  such  a  man 
would  have  been  hooted  out  of  town !" 

That  settled  it.  The  conversation  became  a  matter  of 
comparisons.  The  old  versus  the  new.  Are  we  better  off  now  than  we  were 
before  Dame  Nature  drew  a  smudge  of  charcoal  across  the  annals  of  San 
Francisco?  Or  have  we  degenerated?  Tis  a  common  topic  of  conversation 
nowadays.  We  have  become  so  self-conscious.  We  are  forever  analyzing 
ourselves  like  a  Henry  James  heroine  or  an  Arnold  Bennett  hero;  and  like 
the  hopeless  victims  of  the  James  and  Bennett  method,  we  usually  get 
nowhere.  It  is  only  when  a  keen  observer  who  knew  his  San  Francisco  of 
old  returns  after  many  years  to  take  up  the  psychological  study  where  he 
left  it  off  that  we  get  substantial  results  from  such  comparisons.  That  is 
why  it  is  worth  while  listening  to  Dr.  George  Franklin  Shiels. 

Not  to  know  Dr.  George  Franklin  Shiels  argues  oneself  unknown  in  San 
Francisco.  (I  believe  they  are  beginning  to  say  something  of  the  same 
sort  in  New  York.)  He  grew  up  and  made  his  way  and  prospered  with 
our  big  men.  He  knew  his  city  as  a  gardener  knows  his  flower  beds.  In 
1901  he  went  away.  For  a  dozen  years  New  York  was  his  home. 

So  his  notion  of  our  changed  condition  is  charged  with  some  importance. 
Especially  as  he  has  the  analytical  mind  and  is  wont  to  dissect  the  body 
politic  as  carefully  as  in  his  student  days  he  dissected  the  body  physical.  His 
knife  responds  to  a  trained,  a  steady  hand.  True  surgeon  that  he  is,  he  cuts 
to  heal.  So  I  persuaded  him,  with  difficulty,  it  must  be  said,  to  lay  his  knife 
to  San  Francisco,  knowing  that  the  patient  would  be  the  better  for  his  surgery. 

"The  frame  is  the  same  but  the  picture  has  been  changed,"  he  said.  "The 
breezy,  friendly  attitude  of  the  old  days  is  passing  away.  In  place  of  the 
old  condition  of  general  friendliness  you  have  class  distinctions  which  have 
brought  a  sort  of  metropolitan  snobbism." 

Metropolitan  snobbism !  A  stimulating  phrase !  A  kindling  term  !  The 
mind  takes  fire  from  it.  True?  In  your  heart  of  hearts,  loyal  San  Franciscan, 
say  if  it  be  not  true ! 

"The  dollar  mark  has  arrived,"  continued  Dr.  Shiels.  "It  was  a  long 
time  coming  but  it  has  arrived  at  last.  There  is  a  tendency  to  estimate 
character  by  the  number  of  dollars.  The  more  dollars  he  has  the  better  a 
man  is  known. 

"Yet,  paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  this  has  worked  good  to  the  individual. 

264 


DR.     GEORGE    FRANKLIN     SHIELS 


DR.  GEORGE  FRANKLIN  SHIELS 

This  condition  has  caused  a  demand  for  more  work  from  the  individual  who 
would  achieve.  Nowadays  in  San  Francisco  the  individual  who  would  be 
distinguished  must  get  nearer  to  the  top  than  was  necessary  before. 

"But  the  city  has  lost  its  old  delightful  individuality.  It  has  become 
an  American  business  town.  Before  the  disaster  the  appreciation  of  the  finer 
things  was  greater  than  now.  You  have  advanced  in  material  things,  but 
you  have  lost  in  sentiment. 

"Why?  Before  the  fire  San  Francisco  occupied  the  position  of  a  dreamer. 
She  was  shaken  out  of  her  dreams.  The  old  things  have  been  shaken  away. 
It  has  been  a  financial  and  material  awakening.  The  laissez  faire  of  the  old 
San  Francisco  has  given  way  to  metropolitan  materialism.  The  new  condi- 
tion has  brought  with  it  all  the  curses  of  materialism  as  well  as  the  benefits. 

"Here  I  must  say  something  about  which  I  feel  very  strongly.  Every 
now  and  then  I  sent  people  out  to  San  Francisco  with  letters  of  introduction. 
On  their  return  to  New  York  I  asked  them  their  impressions  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. What  did  they  immediately  talk  about?  The  Barbary  Coast!  On 
that  subject  they  grew  enthusiastic.  They  told  me  that  they  had  seen  Paris, 
Berlin,  Port  Said,  but  that  nowhere  had  they  seen  anything  like  the  Barbary 
Coast. 

Mind  you,  I  am  not  making  a  captious  criticism.  I  speak  as  one  who 
loves  San  Francisco.  I  deem  this  a  matter  of  the  greatest  importance. 
Outside  financial  assistance  is  not  coming  to  a  city  which  depends  for  its 
fame  on  the  gyrations  of  the  turkey  trot,  is  it?  And  yet  the  Barbary  Coast 
seems  to  be  the  basis  for  the  traveler's  memory  of  San  Francisco.  The 
traveler  who  stays  here,  let  us  say,  two  days,  goes  away  apparently  without 
having  paid  attention  to  the  marvelous  work  of  rebuilding.  He  seems  to 
know  only  the  Barbary  Coast.  This  condition  seems  to  me  a  grave  danger 
to  the  financial  welfare  of  San  Francisco. 

"It  was  the  old  tradition  in  San  Francisco  never  to  exploit  anything. 
'Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense'  might  have  been  the  city's  motto.  The  only 
time  San  Francisco  failed  in  that  tradition  was  when  it  began  to  exploit 
the  Barbary  Coast.  Even  the  building  of  the  beautiful  Civic  Center  won't 
counteract  the  vicious  effect  of  this  exploitation.  The  ordinary  tripper  comes 
here  as  he  goes  to  Paris.  Do  we  want  to  be  a  showplace  of  immorality? 

"I  feel  very  vindictive  on  this  subject.  I  feel  as  though  I  should  like  to 
shut  up  the  whole  confounded  Barbary  Coast.  Not  that  I  believe  in  trying 
to  abolish  or  even  to  corral  immorality.  But  let  the  line  between  the  good 
and  the  bad  be  sharply  drawn.  Let  us  have  no  exploitation  of  the  bad.  Let 
us,  as  in  the  old  San  Francisco,  recognize  and  provide  for  the  bad  as  some- 
thing distinct  from  the  good. 

"San  Francisco  wicked?  I  am  glad  you  asked  that  question.  San 
Francisco  is  not  wicked.  San  Francisco  never  was  wicked.  The  difference 
in  this  respect  between  San  Francisco  and  New  York  may  be  illustrated 
by  the  difference  between  two  apples.  Let  us  take  two  apples.  One  of 
them  has  been  bruised  in  transportation.  There  are  brown  spots  on  it. 
Superficially  it  looks  bad.  But  peel  it.  You  find  it  wholesome  and  edible. 
That's  San  Francisco.  The  other  apple  may  be  a  beautiful  Newton  pippin, 

267 


VARIED    TYPES 

round,  smooth,  not  a  mark  on  it,  its  beauty  guarded  by  a  wrapping  of  tissue 
paper.  Cut  it.  You  find  it  absolutely  rotten  to  the  core.  That's  New  York. 

"The  comparison  is  a  true,  an  honest  one.  With  a  specious  veneer  of 
respectability  New  York  is  the  most  immoral  city  in  the  world.  It  is  worse 
than  Paris  which  is  a  mere  showplace  of  immorality.  If  you  want  to  you 
can  avoid  immorality  in  San  Francisco.  But  you  can't  in  New  York.  In 
the  hotels,  cafes,  theatres  of  New  York  your  wife  rubs  shoulders  with 
immorality.  She  sees  prostitution  in  the  streets.  The  Raines  law  and  other 
lying  expedients  have  produced  civic  immorality.  There  is  none  of  that 
here.  No,  San  Francisco  is  not  a  wicked  city." 

"And  the  club  life  of  San  Francisco !"  exclaimed  Dr.  Shiels  with  a  smile 
that  dissipated  the  clouds  lowering  about  our  somber  discussion.  "Club  life 
in  San  Francisco  is  truer  than  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  San  Francisco 
believes  that  a  club  is  the  home  of  bachelors  with  married  men  as  guests. 
The  club  here  does  not  set  itself  up  as  the  social  arbiter  of  the  community. 
It  is  a  delight  to  go  into  one.  In  London  the  clubs  are  impossible.  It  is 
easier  for  a  camel  to  get  through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a  stranger  to 
get  into  touch  with  a  member  of  a  London  club.  But  here  the  stranger  is 
welcomed  as  to  a  home,  made  a  member  of  the  family.  That  is  one  of  the 
holdovers  from  the  old  San  Francisco  that  I  hope  will  stay  forever." 


268 


FRANK  SHORT 


W 


do  you  think  of  the  National  Administration?" 
That's  not  a  question  one  asks  indiscriminately  unless 
£  one  has  an  infinite  capacity  for  being  bored.  But  there  are 
a  few  people  one  likes  to  hear  on  a  large  topic  like  that. 
Frank  Short  of  Fresno,  for  instance.  Frank  Short  is  that 
rarity,  a  man  who  thinks.  His  intellectuals  are  always  in 
good  working  order.  One  of  our  most  distinguished  attor- 
neys, he  is  also  a  keen  observer  of  politics,  and  the  habit  of 
analysis  which  his  profession  presupposes  makes  him  a  delightful  talker  when 
he  is  induced  to  unbosom  himself. 

Frank  Short's  eyes  twinkle  on  slight  provocation.  My  question  was 
sufficient  to  make  them  flash  the  signal  which  proclaims  a  sense  of  humor. 

"As  a  Republican  forced  to  vote  for  Wilson,"  answered  Short,  "I  natural- 
ly wish  the  Administration  well.  I  think  it  is  generally  actuated  by  high 
motives.  But  in  the  main  it  labors  under  the  disadvantage  of  being  highly 
theoretical  without  much  practical  experience." 

"How  about  the  tariff?" 

"The  revision  of  the  tariff  is  a  surgical  operation-  We  may  feel  better 
some  years  hence,  but  as  in  the  case  of  any  other  surgical  operation,  we  may 
expect  to  stay  in  the  hospital,  in  an  industrial  sense,  for  a  while.  I  think 
the  Administration  proceeded  too  literally.  All  important  legislation  is  ex- 
perimental, and  a  radical  revision  of  the  tariff  and  of  the  financial  system 
should  not  be  undertaken  at  the  same  time.  The  theorist  always  assumes 
that  all  new  legislation  will  result  in  an  improvement,  but  usually  it  doesn't 
turn  out  that  way.  One  important  experiment  at  a  time  is  sufficient." 

"How  does  tariff  revision  affect  California?" 

"The  tariff  bill  is  more  injurious  to  California  than  to  most  of  the  States. 
Many  of  our  manufacturing  industries  are  on  a  basis  where  reduced  tariff 
would  be  sufficient  protection.  But  in  handling  our  fruit  products  we  are 
at  a  great  disadvantage  as  to  wages  and  freight  rates.  Some  of  our  industries 
are  going  to  be  seriously  crippled  by  the  tariff." 

"What  about  the  Mexican  situation?" 

"Perhaps  the  attitude  of  the  Administration  in  avoiding  any  positive 
action  is  the  best  one.  The  international  policing  business  has  been  a  good 
deal  overworked.  We  have  problems  and  troubles  enough  of  our  own  with- 
out absorbing  any  chronic  revolutions." 

"What  of  conservation?" 

"Conservation  in  the  extreme  sense  advocated  by  Pinchot  and  Roose- 
velt no  longer  exists.  That  is  to  say,  political  conservation  and  the  taking 
over  of  local  government  by  Washington  bureaus.  No  doubt  the  good 
features  of  conservation  will  remain  to  prevent  the  unnecessary  destruction 

269 


VARIED    TYPES 

of  forests  and  other  valuable  resources.  But  the  conservation  that  professed 
to  prevent  the  exhaustion  of  our  timber  supply,  our  coal,  oil  and  other  re- 
sources by  putting  prohibitive  restrictions  on  the  development  of  electric 
power  and  limiting  the  appropriation  and  beneficial  use  of  water,  is  rapidly 
disappearing.  We  are  hearing  about  the  last  of  it." 

"What  about  our  State  Administration  ?" 

"Our  State  Administration  is  bound  to  become  reactionary  before  long." 

"Why  so?" 

"Because  there  cannot  be  much  more  in  the  way  of  progressive  legisla- 
tion. Pretty  near  everything  and  everybody  has  been  regulated  and  made 
good  by  some  statute  or  other.  It  will  take  us  several  years  to  read  up  before 
we  can  appreciate  how  many  good  laws  and  other  laws  have  been  passed  in 
the  last  couple  of  years.  Even  the  district  attorneys  of  the  State  probably 
haven't  read  one-fourth  of  the  new  criminal  statutes.  On  the  moral  end  of 
it  the  prevailing  idea  seems  to  be  that  the  fathers  and  mothers  and  schools 
and  even  the  churches  haven't  much  to  do  with  it.  It  is  now  apparently  up 
to  the  local  purity  committee  and  the  constables  and  the  police  to  look  after 
the  rising  generation.  Mostly  we  may  look  complacently  on  the  passage  of 
laws  fool  or  otherwise.  If  they  are  fool  laws  they  usually  don't  do  much 
harm.  But  legislation  upon  some  of  the  subjects  recently  undertaken,  and 
their  free  discussion  in  the  press,  are  very  serious  matters  and  tend,  I  firmly 
believe,  to  moral  degradation  and  to  great  injury  to  society  and  individuals. 
While  there  is  a  good  deal  of  tendency  to  treat  this  class  of  legislation  as  a 
joke,  except  among  those  who  take  it  seriously,  I  think  a  good  deal  of  it 
represents  the  last  stages  of  political  decay.  While  undoubtedly  the  State 
legislatures  of  recent  years  have  done  some  wholesome  things  and  a  good 
many  popular  things,  I  think  the  extreme  and  absurd  legislation  will  do 
infinite  harm  and  has  greatly  weakened  the  party  in  control  in  the  estimation 
of  the  public.  There  was  a  demand  for  the  public  control  of  public  utilities 
and  public  service,  but  that  there  is  any  demand  for  the  recent  extreme  inter- 
ference with  private  matters  and  the  conduct  of  purely  private  business  and 
the  ultra  blue  law  legislation  I  think  is  a  serious  mistake.  There  is  plenty 
of  evidence  of  a  tendency  in  the  other  direction  which  I  trust  will  go  far 
enough  to  leave  in  force  some  very  efficient  and  good  legislation  but  which 
will  sweep  away  about  three-fourths  of  the  meddlesome  and  foolish  boards, 
commissions  and  officials  that,  if  allowed  to  continue,  will  eat  up  a  lot  of 
substance  and  do  nobody  any  good  now  or  hereafter." 

"Can  the  Republicans  'come  back5  next  time?" 

"Well,  the  Progressive  party  as  a  national  organization  is  obviously  dis- 
integrating. The  voters  are  going  to  return  either  to  the  Republican  or  the 
Democratic  party,  and  as  California  is  naturally  benefited  by  Republican 
policies  and  is  very  clearly  a  Republican  State  in  national  sentiment,  it  will 
undoubtedly  return  to  the  Republican  party  at  the  next  election  if  properly 
organized  and  united." 


270 


FRANK    SHORT 


SAMUEL  M.  SHORTRIDGE 


N  ORATOR  to  the  tip  of  thine  index  finger!  An  advocate 
whose  tongue  drops  manna  on  the  aridities  of  the  law,  and 
not  unskilled  at  times  to  make  the  worse  appear  the  better 
reason !  Whether  discoursing  philosophy  in  thy  Tusculan 
villa  at  Menlo,  exalting  genius  in  the  rostrum  or  pleading 
causes  in  the  forum,  to  whom  can  I  so  fittingly  compare  thee 
as  to  the  friend  of  Atticus,  the  champion  of  Archias,  the 
scourge  of  Catiline  and  the  savior  of  Milo?  Samuel,  thou 
art  the  Cicero  of  California !  the  Marcus  Tullius  of  a  later  republic ! 

Gentle  reader,  do  not  regard  this  as  too  haphazard  a  comparison.  In 
many  respects  Shortridge  has  formed  his  life  on  the  life  of  the  Roman 
orator.  The  Ciceronian  disertitude  is  the  model  of  his  eloquence;  the 
Ciceronian  suavity  mellows  his  manner  and  softens  the  rudeness  of  our 
speech  as  it  falls  from  his  lips;  the  Ciceronian  polish  is  in  his  gestures  and 
his  diction ;  a  not  unciceronian  cultivation  fashions  the  matter  of  his  thoughts 
and  directs  the  course  of  his  reading.  And,  as  if  to  accentuate  the  com- 
parison, a  bust  of  Cicero  in  purest  Carrara  marble  stands  by  his  desk,  the 
presiding  genius  of  his  law  office,  the  eidolon  of  his  intellectual  worship. 

Cicero,  as  Macaulay's  schoolboy  knows,  loved  the  theatre  and  was  the 
warm  friend  of  Roscius,  the  greatest  actor  of  his  day.  Herein  too  did  Cicero 
prefigure  our  Samuel.  Shortridge  has  been  so  familiar  with  the  plays  of 
Shakespeare  all  his  life  that  the  hardest  tug  at  his  memory  will  not  suffice 
to  bring  back  the  occasion  of  his  first  reading  them.  They  are  as  much  a 
part  of  his  mental  equipment  as  the  alphabet.  In  fact,  if  there  should  arise, 
some  time  or  other,  a  legend  telling  that  the  infant  Shortridge  came  into  the 
world  holding  a  volume  of  the  bard  in  one  hand  and  pointing  out  a  passage 
in  "Hamlet"  with  the  index  finger  of  the  other,  I  rather  think  it  would  find 
ready  belief  among  those  who  know  him. 

"But  I  do  recall  very  vividly,"  he  told  me,  "the  first  time  I  saw  a  play 
of  Shakespeare  on  the  stage.  I  saw  Lawrence  Barrett  in  'Hamlet,'  and  the 
effect  was  tremendous.  I  was  in  a  trance,  a  state  of  ecstacy  for  days.  I  went 
about  oblivious  of  all  external  things,  my  mind  concentrated  on  that 
wonderful  experience." 

It  is  the  classic  drama  which  Shortridge  loves. 

"I  don't  care  for  the  modern  school  of  playwriting,"  he  says.  "The 
theatre  should  idealize  life.  If  I  want  to  see  a  crowd  of  men  in  a  bar  room 
I  can  walk  down  Market  street.  Why  should  I  go  to  the  playhouse  for  such 
a  sight?  The  drama  which  talks  hogwash  may  turn  men's  mftids  from 
sorrow,  may  make  them  forget  their  troubles.  In  that  sense  it  may  be  a 
wholesome  antidote.  But  it  doesn't  improve  mind  or  morals.  The  great 
classical  plays  are  educational  and  altogether  good.  In  them  virtue 

273 


VARIED    TYPES 

triumphs  and  the  wicked  things  of  life  bear  their  bitter  fruit.    They  preach 
a  sermon." 

The  phrase  brought  our  Cicero  back  from  the  realm  of  Roscuis  to  the 
subject  of  oratory. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  "they  preach  a  sermon,  and  it  is  well  that  they  do. 
For  the  pulpit  is  empty.  Where  today  is  there  a  Henry  Drummond?  a 
Beecher?  a  Spurgeon?  a  Phillips  Brooks?  This  great  field  of  oratory  lies 
untilled.  Great  indeed!  for  it  includes  all  earthly  and  immortal  things. 
The  lawyer  deals  with  hearts ;  the  preacher  with  souls." 

Shortridge  knows  whereof  he  speaks.  His  father  was  a  clergyman  and 
a  master  of  oratory.  Indeed  oratory  runs  in  the  family.  Eli  Shortridge  was 
one  of  the  great  lawyer-orators  of  Kentucky.  There  is  something  in 
heredity.  The  young  Shortridge  proved  it,  not  by  turning  to  the  church  but 
by  shaping  his  course  toward  law  and  learning  to  conjure  the  spoken  word. 

"It  was  always  understood  in  our  family  that  I  was  to  be  a  lawyer." 

Was  there  the  hint  of  a  sigh  as  he  spoke?  I  almost  thought  so.  I 
probed  a  bit.  The  conversation  of  Cicero  veered  back  to  Roscius. 

"My  city  of  San  Jose,"  he  explained,  "produced  John  T.  Malone  and 
Sam  Piercey.  For  a  time  I  dreamed  that  it  might  produce  a  third.  We  had 
an  amateur  dramatic  club,  and  I  played  the  leading  parts  in  'The  Marble 
Heart,'  'Coralie,'  'Diplomacy'  and  other  plays.  I  shall  never  forget  the  praise 
I  received  for  my  acting  in  that  beautiful  old  play  of  'Coralie.'  It  was 
bestowed  by  Eugene  T.  Sawyer,  then  a  writer  on  the  Mercury  but  afterwards 
exalted  to  a  proud  eminence  as  the  author  of  the  Nick  Carter  stories  of 
blood  and  thunder.  Sawyer  suggested  that  I  should  follow  in  the  footsteps 
of  Malone  and  Piercey. 

"I  thought  so  too  for  a  time.  But  you  remember  that  Goethe  cherished 
the  belief  that  he  knew  more  about  the  theory  of  light  than  any  other  man 
in  Germany.  I  have  thought  at  times  that  I  could  play  the  great  parts. 
After  all,  you  may  count  on  your  fingers  the  actors  of  today  who  are  also 
students.  How  few  grasp  the  subtle  meanings  of  Shakespeare !  How  many 
glide  over  sentences  pregnant  with  philosophy!  And  so,  having  been  a 
passionate  student  of  the  plays  I  have  sometimes  dreamed  that  I  could 
interpret  them  not  unworthily. 

"And  yet  I  remember  what  Cicero  said  in  his  essay  'De  Oratore.'  The 
great  advocate  must  be  an  actor  and  something  more ;  he  must,  says  Tully, 
combine  all  knowledge  with  the  art  of  Roscius.  The  actor  from  Roscius  to 
Burbage  and  from  Burbage  to  my  dear  friend  Sothern  does  not  create  the 
noble  thoughts,  the  grand  situations  to  which  he  gives  his  powers  of 
interpretation.  After  all,  the  dramatic  is  a  poor  art  as  compared  with  the 
ideals  represented  yonder." 

Whereupon  Shortridge  turned  with  a  smile  to  that  magnificent  bust 
of  the  Roman  Shortridge. 

So  it  happened  that  our  Cicero  resisted  the  blandishments  of  Eugene 
T.  Sawyer,  gave  up  the  dramatic  club  and  joined  the  Lecticonians,  an 
earnest  group  of  students  who  gathered  for  frequent  debate  on  the  burning 
issues  of  government,  politics  and  literature. 

274 


SAMUEL    M.    SHORTRIDGE 


SAMUEL    M.    SHORTRIDGE 

Curiously  enough  Shortridge's  first  speech  before  the  Lecticonians  was 
made  in  opposition  to  the  Baconian  theory.  From  the  time  that  Mrs.  Bacon 
started  that  curious  controversy  he  has  been  a  consistent,  a  passionate 
champion  of  Shakespeare.  Cicero  defended  Roscius  and  Archias  with  just 
such  flaming  enthusiasm. 

That  speech  against  the  Baconians  won  the  hearts  of  the  Lecticonians; 
thenceforth  he  was  their  leader.  From  his  lectica  of  eloquence  he  looked 
down,  though  not  unkindly,  upon  the  lesser  orators. 

That  was  his  first  triumph  of  golden  speech.  There  have  been  many 
others  more  conspicuous,  though  perhaps  not  quite  so  sweet.  Later  on  in 
life  when  Shortridge  was  invited  to  a  dinner  given  at  the  Bohemian  Club 
to  Frederick  Warde,  he  was  asked  to  respond  to  the  toast,  "Shakespeare," 
and  unprepared  acquitted  himself  so  well  that  he  was  immediately  elected 
to  membership. 

Come  to  think  of  it,  there  should  be  a  bust  of  Shakespeare  in  Shortridge's 
office  as  well  as  a  bust  of  Cicero.  Why  not  the  prince  of  poets  on  one  side 
and  the  prince  of  orators  on  the  other? 

Perhaps,  though,  he  would  prefer  to  carry  the  image  of  the  bard  in  his 
heart.  Cicero  is  not  merely  an  affection  but  also  an  inspiration.  An 
advocate  and  orator  was  Cicero.  So  too  is  Shortridge.  But  Cicero  was 
more  than  that.  A. senator,  you  recall Who  knows  of  what  Short- 
ridge is  thinking  when  he  studies  that  marble  effigy? 


277 


GEORGE  STERLING 


E  TOLD  me  many  arresting  things  about  Carmel-by-the-Sea, 
heightening  its  natural  charms  by  the  vividness  of  his  de- 
scriptions and  glamoring  its  commonplaces  with  the  magic 
of  his  poetic  phrases.  He  deprecated  the  growing  Carmel 
Myth  which  makes  the  little  seaside  settlement  the  abode  of 
"weird  and  wonderful  creatures  of  crankishness"  who  go 
about  with  their  hair  hanging  down  their  backs,  gushing  out 
their  souls  and  demanding  admiration.  He  thinks  that 
Carmel's  "writers  have  been  overrated  and  its  scenery  underrated,"  yet  he 
points  out  that  most  of  Carmel's  writers  are  veteran  writers  "who  are  making 
good  money  and  who  seldom  talk  shop."  He  mentioned  Michael  Williams, 
John  Fleming  Wilson,  Grace  MacGowan  Cook,  Alice  MacGowan,  Mary 
Austin,  Harry  Leon  Wilson  and  Jimmy  Hopper  as  Carmelites  who  find  a 
ready  market  for  all  they  write. 

"Outside  of  these  there  are  not  more  than  three  in  Carmel  who  try  to 
write,"  he  told  me,  "and  Carmel  is  a  town  of  a  thousand  or  so." 

Characteristically  enough,  George  Sterling  did  not  mention  himself  in 
this  list  of  Carmel  writers  and  yet  I  inferred  that  he  was  the  pioneer  of  the 
place,  or  almost  so.  I  believe  that  Mary  Austin  was  already  there  when 
Charles  Rollo  Peters  pointed  out  the  beauty  of  the  place  to  Sterling  and 
inspired  him  with  the  idea  of  making  it  his  permanent  abode. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  his  desire  to  discourage  the  popular 
notion  of  Carmel  as  a  high-brow  community. 

"There  is  no  reading  of  manuscripts,"  he  said;  "our  sense  of  humor  is 
too  strong  for  that.  I  think  the  only  thing  of  the  sort  was  when  Jimmy 
Hopper  read  us  his  '9009.'  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  we  got  together 
oftener,  provided  of  course  that  we  had  the  courage  for  destructive  criticism 
as  well  as  for  the  other  kind." 

I  wish  I  could  reproduce  the  poetry  of  his  references  to  the  natural  beauty 
of  the  place,  but  I  am  not  a  poet.  One  expression,  however,  sticks  in  my 
mind. 

"You  get  so  used  to  this  pea  soup  bay,"  he  said  with  a  glance  toward 
the  window,  "that  you  forget  what  blue  water  is  like." 

But  I  would  much  rather  hear  George  Sterling  talk  about  his  poetry 
and  himself.  The  two  themes  are  not  interchangeable  and  they  are  by  no 
means  the  readiest  to  his  tongue.  He  can  be  induced,  for  instance,  to  tell 
the  story  of  how  he  nailed  the  Irish  flag  to  the  steeple  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church  in  Sag  Harbor. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen  Sterling  became  a  Catholic  and  developed  a 
prejudice  against  Presbyterianism.  To  give  this  prejudice  visible  form  he  and 
another  boy  who  is  today  a  prominent  citizen  of  San  Francisco,  climbed  at 

278 


midnight  to  the  top  of  the  steeple  of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  one  hundred 
and  fifteen  feet  in  the  air,  and  fastened  an  Irish  flag  to  the  lightning  rod 
above  the  weather  vane.  In  the  morning,  however,  the  flag  had  blown  away. 

Nothing  daunted  the  lads  tried  again,  this  time  with  a  pirate  flag.  It 
was  a  piece  of  bunting  nine  feet  by  twelve  with  the  skull  and  cross  bones 
on  one  side  and  the  cross  on  the  other. 

"When  we  were  two  blocks  away  from  the  church,"  said  Sterling,  "we 
could  still  hear  that  flag  flapping  in  the  wind." 

Next  morning  Sag  Harbor  was  in  an  uproar. 

"There  wasn't  a  member  of  the  church  who  would  dare  to  go  up  to 
the  top  of  that  steeple  and  take  the  flag  down.  It  stayed  there  for  three 
days  and  then  they  had  to  bring  a  steeple  jack  from  Brooklyn  who  charged 
them  two  hundred  dollars  for  taking  it  down.  The  New  York  papers  were 
full  of  the  affair  and  I  was  a  hero.  But  the  Presbyterians  got  ahead  of  me. 
They  made  a  crazy  quilt  out  of  the  flag  and  raffled  it  for  five  hundred 
dollars.  I  saw  I  couldn't  beat  Presbyterian  commercialism,  so  I  left  Sag 
Harbor." 

About  his  poetry  Sterling  is  simply,  unaffectedly  modest. 

"There  was  a  time  when  I  had  the  big  head,"  he  confesses;  "the  time 
that  Ambrose  Bierce  praised  my  'Wine  of  Wizardry';  but  I  got  over  it." 

And  then,  in  answer  to  a  direct  question : 

"  'The  Testimony  of  the  Suns'  is  incomparably  the  best  thing  I've  written. 
Compared  to  it  all  the  rest  is  nowhere.  In  it  I  laid  down  a  cosmic  philosophy 
which  I  don't  think  can  be  refuted.  If  any  of  my  poetry  should  have  the 
good  fortune  to  live  it  will  be  that.  The  poem  says  something  and  the 
world  seems  to  demand  poems  which  say  something." 

But  Sterling  is  not  over-enthusiastic  about  the  world's  demand  for 
poetry. 

"I  do  very  well  with  the  magazines,  but  I  have  never  tried  to  make  a 
cent  out  of  my  books.  However,  I  have  an  income  and  don't  expect  to  live 
by  my  poetry.  Perhaps  the  reason  why  poetry  is  not  profitable  is  because 
the  publishers  don't  have  to  pay  much  for  it.  There  is  competition  for  short 
stories,  but  not  for  poetry." 

Then  he  told  of  the  recently  organized  Poetry  Society  of  America  of 
which  he  is  a  charter  member,  one  of  fifty. 

"Every  poet  of  importance  in  America  belongs,"  he  said.  "Its  object  is 
to  awaken  a  more  general  interest  in  poetry." 

But  quite  frankly  he  admitted  that  he  didn't  know  how  this  was  to  be 
done. 

I  asked  him  how  he  ranked  the  living  poets  of  America  and  he  named 
the  four  whom  he  considers  at  the  top :  Edwin  Markham,  Anna  Hempstead 
Branch,  Bliss  Carman  and  Cale  Young  Rice. 

"I  am  speaking  now  of  poets'  poetry,"  he  explained.  "I  measure  a  poet 
by  his  greatest  height,  not  by  his  average.  I  put  Markham  first  for  his 
'Wharf  of  Dreams'  and  his  'Semiramis,'  not  for  his  'Man  With  the  Hoe'  which 
is  great  in  individual  lines  but  not  as  a  whole." 

He  talked  of  these  poets  in  a  detached  way,  as  though  neither  himself 

279 


VARIED     TYPES 

nor  anyone  else  would  think  of  naming  George  Sterling  among  them.  Perhaps 
poetry  does  not  entirely  satisfy  his  ambition. 

"Now  that  I  have  got  what  has  been  called  'the  poison  of  art'  out  of 
my  system,"  he  confessed,  "I  shall  try  some  prose,  some  short  stories.  I  have 
tried  the  drama,  but  while  I  can  do  poetry  without  its  being  excessively 
rotten,  I  don't  think  I  can  write  a  play.  I  finished  one  act  of  a  medieval 
drama  called  'Lilith,'  but  I  don't  think  I'll  go  on  with  it.  All  my  characters 
talk  alike;  they  talk  like  me." 

It  was  not  said  out  of  compliment  to  the  characters;  but  it  must  be 
recorded  that  George  Sterling  talks  uncommonly  well,  alternating  flashes  of 
poetry  with  colloquialisms  and  never  getting  too  far  from  the  saving  presence 
of  humor. 

And  let  me  not  forget  his  enthusiasm.  It  flamed  out  suddenly  when  he 
thought  of  an  eighteen-year-old  boy  in  Auburn  who  had  sent  him  some  verses 
for  criticism.  Poets,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me,  are  not  often  enamored  of 
another's  muse;  they  are  more  anxious  to  carp  than  to  appreciate.  I  must 
either  revise  that  judgment  or  count  Sterling  an  exception,  for  he  displayed 
an  interest  in  Clark  Ashton  Smith  of  Auburn  which  he  had  not  shown  when 
his  own  verses,  his  own  ambitions  were  under  discussion.  And  when  it  was 
suggested  that  I  give  readers  an  opportunity  to  savor  this  youngster's  poetry, 
he  was  sincerely  delighted. 

"I  owe  a  great  deal  to  one  man,"  he  said;  "to  Ambrose  Bierce;  and  I 
would  be  glad  to  do  something  for  a  youngster  who  is  worth  while.  This 
boy  has  a  wonderful  gift,  if  I  know  anything  about  such  things." 

And  as  George  Sterling  handed  me  these  verses  by  eighteen-year-old 
Clark  Ashton  Smith  of  Auburn,  I  realized  that  there  was  at  least  one 
member  of  the  Poetry  Society  of  America  who  was  trying  unselfishly  to  do 
something  for  the  future  of  poetry  in  America : 

THE  LAST  NIGHT 

I  dreamed  a  dream:     I  stood  upon  a  height, 

A  mountain's  utmost  eminence  of  snow, 

Whence  I  beheld  the  plain  outstretched  below 
To  a  far  sea-horizon,  dim  and  white. 
Beneath  the  sun's  expiring,  ghastly  light 

The  dead  world  lay,  phantasmally  aglow; 

Its  last  fear-stricken  voice,  a  wind,  came  low; 
The  distant  sea  lay  hushed,  as  with  affright. 

I  watched,  and  lo!  the  pale  and  flickering  sun, 

In  agony  and  fierce  despair,  flamed  high, 

And  shadow-slain,  went  out  upon  the  gloom. 
Then  Night,  that  grim,  gigantic  struggle  won, 

Impended  for  a  breath  on  wings  of  doom 

And  through  the  air  fell  like  a  falling  sky. 


280 


MRS.  GAILLARD  STONEY 


PRIDE  myself,"  says  Mrs.  Gaillard  Stoney,  "on  my  Common 
Sense." 

'Tis  no  small  boast,  that.  Common  Sense  has  come  to 
be  one  of  the  most  uncommon  things  in  the  world.  Diogenes 
his  lantern,  were  it  flashing  up  and  down  the  darkness  of 
this  our  time,  would  light  up  more  honesty  than  Common 
Sense.  Common  Sense  is  always  old-fashioned,  and  this  is 
the  triumphant  day  of  modes.  That  person  who  is  not 
abreast  of  the  very  latest  style  whether  of  Parisian  gowns  or  social  uplift,  is 
regarded  as  utterly  negligible.  The  febrile  world  is  joyriding  through  all 
the  speed  ordinances,  and  the  chauffeur  is  not  Common  Sense.  Nay,  Common 
Sense  is  a  pedestrian  and  must  take  the  muddy  spatter  from  the  wheels.  So 
Common  Sense  has  come  to  be  a  solitary,  scorned,  sneered  at  and  berated 
for  a  laggard. 

And  still  there  are  men  and  women  who  take  a  pride  in  Common  Sense. 
Mrs.  Gaillard  Stoney  is  one  of  them.  Mrs.  Stoney  is  therefore  a  phenomenon 
worth  studying. 

"I  have  no  sympathy,"  says  Mrs.  Stoney,  "with  those  who  are  trying 
to  make  people  moral  by  legislation." 

Clearly  Mrs.  Stoney  is  not  "in  the  movement."  Mrs.  Stoney  is  in- 
transigeant.  Mrs.  Stoney  does  not  write  herself  down  to  date.  She  is  not 
progressive.  She's  a  reactionary,  a  standpatter.  Mrs.  Stoney  begins  to  be 
interesting. 

"What  we  want,"  says  Mrs.  Stoney,  "is  more  mothers,  mothers  of  large 
families.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  am  the  mother  of  one  child  only,  for  I 
believe  in  large  families.  And  the  sort  of  mothers  we  want  are  those  who  go 
down  on  their  knees,  who  teach  their  children  to  go  down  on  their  knees  and 
pray  to  their  God." 

Why,  Mrs.  Stoney  is  more  old-fashioned  than  many  of  our  clergymen ! 
How  many  of  the  clergymen  who  kindly  supply  us  with  ready-made  solutions 
for  all  our  problems,  political,  economic,  social  and  moral,  ever  dream  of 
telling  us  to  go  down  on  our  knees  in  prayer?  There  is  no  prayer  at 
Armageddon;  shame  on  him  who  is  beaten  to  his  knees! 

"I  am  a  clubwoman,  of  a  sort,"  says  Mrs.  Stoney.  "I  have  a  good 
husband  to  provide  for  me  and  my  daughter  is  grown,  so  I  can  spare  time 
from  my  domestic  duties.  I  belong  to  the  Town  and  Country  because  it  is 
a  convenient  placs  to  lunch  when  I  am  shopping.  I  don't  approve  of  lunch- 
ing in  hotels.  And  I  belong  to  the  Century.  But  the  Century  is  not  like 
the  California  where  they  settle  all  sorts  of  questions." 

Mrs.  Stoney  is  therefore  a  conservative  clubwoman.  She  is  not  one  to 
make  speeches  about  the  immorality  of  lingerie  displays  in  shop  windows. 

281 


VARIED    TYPES 

"How  ridiculous  that  was!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Stoney.  "Such  displays  are 
apt  to  be  vulgar,  but  immoral,  never!  What  sort  of  person  is  it  that  would 
be  harmed  by  such  things?" 

Mrs.  Stoney  has  advocated  woman  suffrage  for  seventeen  years.  Seven- 
teen years  ago  she  lived  in  Boston,  and  at  that  time  the  women  of 
Massachusetts  were  allowed  to  express  their  views  on  woman  suffrage  at 
the  polls.  Mrs.  Stoney  voted  with  the  small  minority  which  favored  the 
franchise  for  women. 

"But  while  I  think  women  should  have  the  right  to  vote,  I  do  not  think 
that  women  are  fit  to  hold  office,"  said  Mrs.  Stoney.  "Women,  except  in 
very  rare  cases,  are  not  fit  for  office-holding.  I  can  only  name  one  or  two 
women  of  my  acquaintance  who  might  succeed  in  public  office.  Perhaps 
it  may  be  different  in  two  or  three  generations. 

"I  have  never  known  a  woman  who  sat  down  and  studied  a  public 
question.  Women  are  not  constituted  that  way.  They  rely  on  intuition. 
They  jump  at  conclusions.  And  so  they  are  often  wrong. 

"What  do  women  know  about  vice,  for  instance?  They  have  so  little 
opportunity  for  studying  vice.  Their  lives  are  lived  apart  from  it.  And 
yet  some  of  our  women  set  themselves  up  as  authorities.  They  made 
themselves  the  champions  of  the  'red  light  abatement'  measure.  I  have  read 
what  Chief  of  Police  White  had  to  say  about  this  law.  Now  Chief  White 
is  an  authority.  He  knows  what  he  is  talking  about.  So  when  he  says 
that  this  law  is  a  step  backwards  I  am  prepared  to  accept  his  opinion.  He 
says  that  this  law  means  the  end  of  the  Municipal  Clinic.  That  is  a  great 
misfortune.  With  Doctor  Clampett  and  others  I  think  the  Municipal  Clinic 
is  a  good  thing.  I  think  that  the  'red  light'  law  should  be  repealed. 

"It  is  because  I  am  old-fashioned,  I  suppose,  that  I  differ  on  this  and 
other  questions  with  many  of  my  friends.  There  is  Doctor  Lathrop  for 
instance.  Somehow  or  other  he  and  I  always  take  opposite  sides." 

She  differs  from  Doctor  Lathrop !  Irrefragable  proof,  incontestable 
evidence  that  Mrs.  Stoney  is  mistress  of  Common  Sense! 

Mrs.  Stoney  mentioned  other  names.  It  was  inevitable  that  the  name  of 
Doctor  Aked  should  be  included.  Mrs.  Stoney's  opinion  of  Doctor  Aked  is 
perhaps  an  old-fashioned  opinion,  and  I  should  like  to  repeat  it.  But  she 
asked  me  not  to.  From  this  it  may  be  inferred  that  her  opinion  was  not 
complimentary.  And  it  was  not.  It  increased  my  admiration  for  her. 

One  of  the  questions  on  which  Mrs.  Stoney  found  it  impossible  to  agree 
with  Doctor  Lathrop  and  others  was  the  Graft  Prosecution.  Another  is  the 
Weller  Recall.  Mrs.  Stoney  does  not  think  that  Judge  Weller  should  have 
been  recalled.  She  does  not  think  that  it  was  an  honest  movement. 

"The  women  were  given  the  vote  and  the  recall.  They  were  eager  to  try 
their  wings.  Without  investigating  they  started  the  movement  to  recall  Judge 
Weller.  Later  they  found  they  were  wrong  about  Judge  Weller,  but  they 
decided  to  recall  him  anyway. 

"And  who  were  the  women  who  started  this  movement?  Two  new- 
comers in  this  city :  Helen  Todd  from  Chicago,  a  professional  agitator,  and 
Miss  Ballou  of  Kentucky.  Does  it  seem  fair  that  they  should  speak  for  us?" 

282 


MRS.    GAILLARD    STONEY 


MRS.     GAILLARD    STONEY 

Mrs.  Stoney  felt  so  strongly  on  this  subject  that  she  wrote  a  letter  about 
it  to  the  Examiner. 

"The  Examiner  would  not  publish  it,"  she  said.  "It  seems  strange,  but 
I  have  noticed  that  the  papers  publish  only  one  side  of  such  a  matter.  When 
anything  was  said  for  Judge  Weller  it  did  not  appear  in  print.  I  suppose  the 
papers  were  afraid  of  the  women  directing  the  Weller  recall.  They  realize 
that  it  is  the  women,  not  the  men  who  subscribe  for  the  papers." 

After  some  difficulty  friends  of  Mrs.  Stoney  procured  the  publication  of 
her  letter  in  the  Bulletin.  It  was  a  harmless  letter,  apparently  not  calculated 
to  affright  an  editor.  The  letter  concluded  thus: 

"I  have  always  been  an  advocate  of  woman  suffrage,  but  I  regret  that 
the  initial  movement  here  among  women,  in  the  exercise  of  this  right,  should 
be  based  upon  such  a  frivolous  and  unjust  pretext." 

"Frivolous  and  unjust"  says  Mrs.  Stoney.  They  are  hard  words  for  a 
woman  to  apply  to  her  sisters,  but  Mrs.  Stoney  is  old-fashioned  enough  not 
to  be  afraid  of  words  when  she  thinks  her  sex  needs  criticism. 

And  in  this  matter  of  their  advocacy  of  short  cuts  to  morality  by 
legislation  and  recall  she  is  a  severe  critic.  She  is  old-fashioned  enough  to 
think  that  men  are  not  solely  to  blame  when  girls  go  wrong. 

"If  a  girl  goes  joy-riding  with  strange  men  she  should  be  prepared  to 
accept  the  consequences,"  she  says.  "Where  are  the  mothers  of  such  girls? 
How  have  they  trained  them?  Do  they  think  that  laws  can  do  for  their 
daughters  what  they  have  failed  to  do?  Evil  cannot  be  subdued  by  law- 
making.  The  two  great  weapons  against  it  are  home  training  and  religion." 

Mrs.  Stoney  was  equally  severe  about  the  feminine  uplifters  who  haunted 
the  court  room  during  the  two  Joslen  trials.  It  horrifies  her  to  see  a  wayward 
girl  given  a  halo  by  hysterical  women.  She  thinks  that  such  misplaced  zeal 
is  harmful  instead  of  beneficial. 

So  you  see,  Mrs.  Stoney's  common  sense  cuts  her  off  from  sympathy 
with  many  of  the  women  who  are  attracting  attention  in  our  midst.  For  the 
professional  uplifter  she  has  no  regard;  for  the  cut-and-dried  formulas  of 
social  and  moral  regeneration  she  has  a  great  deal  of  contempt. 

And  yet  Mrs.  Stoney  has  always  been  a  woman  of  activity  in  worthy 
causes.  She  was  for  a  long  time  a  member  of  the  Women's  Auxiliary  of  the 
Prison  Commission.  She  was  a  member  of  the  San  Francisco  Maternity. 
She  is  on  the  Pure  Milk  Commission.  She  has  been  chairman  of  the  Social 
Service  Workers  of  the  Episcopal  House  of  Churchwomen.  And  she  is  a 
member  of  the  Women's  Board  of  the  World's  Fair. 

So  although  Mrs.  Stoney  confesses  old-fashioned  views  she  cannot  be 
regarded  with  contempt  by  the  women  she  fails  to  approve  of.  Should  they 
enter  the  lists  against  her  they  will  find  her  position  bulwarked  by  charming 
manners,  shrewd  humor  and  high  mental  cultivation  as  well  as  by  Common 
Sense.  There  are  very  many  women  in  San  Francisco  like  her,  but  unfor- 
tunately their  shriller  sisters  make  so  much  noise  that  their  modulated  pro- 
tests are  not  heard.  In  consenting  to  speak  Mrs.  Stoney  has  placed  them 
under  an  obligation  of  gratitude. 


285 


AGNES  TOBIN 


"^ffii^T  WAS  Agnes  Tobin  (if  I  may  appropriate  the  words  of  a 
rJ^I  critic)  who  made  "Petrarch's  great  name  credible"  to  Eng- 
lish  readers.  Agnes  Tobin  transplanted  Petrarch's  lyric 
blossoms  from  Vaucluse  to  London,  and  thence  their  frag- 
^5  ranee  has  been  borne  to  every  English-speaking  land. 
t%  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  there  was  no  adequate  English 
version  of  the  immortal  sonnets  and  canzoni  until  Agnes 
Tobin  essayed  the  congenial  task.  For  more  than  five 
hundred  years  a  wondrous  treasure  was  locked  from  English  readers.  It 
remained  for  Agnes  Tobin  to  provide  the  key.  The  artistic  success  of  her 
achievement  is  a  glory  which  her  native  California  is  proud  to  share. 

It  would  be  interesting  indeed  to  hear  Agnes  Tobin  discourse  of 
Petrarch  and  his  Lady  Laura,  But  she  has  the  poet's  elusive  shyness;  one 
does  not  come  close  to  her  personality  in  conversation.  Indeed,  it  may  be 
said  that  she  erects  a  barrier  of  speech  that  effectively  protects  her  most 
cherished  thoughts,  her  dearest  opinions  from  the  casual  interviewer. 

Here  and  there  through  Miss  Tobin's  fluent  talk  there  flashes  the  other- 
wise secret  fire  of  her  predilections;  and  then  one  realizes  how  warming 
and  illuminating  that  inward  flame  must  be  for  those  to  whom  it  is  un- 
covered. 

There  is  in  Agnes  Tobin,  I  should  say,  the  artist's  consuming  passion 
for  perfect  form.  One  catches  the  flash  when  she  lingers  admiringly  on  the 
names  of  such  supersubtle  artists  as  Whistler,  Poe,  Hawthorne,  Francis 
Thompson,  Butler  Yeats  and  Mrs.  Meynell ;  when  she  laments  the  Mary 
Austin  that  has  turned  aside  from  the  exquisite  artistry  of  "The  Land  of 
Little  Rain."  And  the  artist's  detachment  is  strikingly  apparent  when  one 
seeks  to  engage  her  in  talk  on  the  politics  of  her  beloved  London.  The 
only  politician  in  whom  she  showed  an  interest  was  one  who  in  his  social 
hours  "pours  forth  cascades  of  Wordsworth  and  Keats."  There  is  almost 
a  shudder  when  you  mention  the  Pankhursts  and  the  Drummonds.  A  sort 
of  poet's  instinct  for  self-preservation  guards  her  from  any  enthusiasm  for 
politics. 

Agnes  Tobin  lives  the  inner  life.  I  should  apply  the  word  "mystic"  were 
it  not  so  fashionably  abused.  She  mentions  Alphonsus  of  Liguori  as  though 
his  name  and  work  were  perfectly  familiar  to  all.  Of  Chesterton  whose 
religious  belief  is  just  now  quite  a  subject  for  speculation  in  London  and 
elsewhere  she  explains  briefly  that  his  creedal  predilections  constitute  an 
intellectual  passion,  and  so  dismisses  the  subject;  for  all  the  world  as 
though  the  churchman's  subtle  distinction  between  the  human  gift  of  under- 
standing and  the  divine  gift  of  faith  were  a  truistic  commonplace. 

Her  absorption  in  the  inner  life  led  her  to  Petrarch.     The  way  was 

286 


AGNES    TOBIN 

inevitable.  We  know  that  by  the  result.  No  chance  interest  could  flower  in 
such  a  translation  of  Petrarch  as  Agnes  Tobin  has  given  us.  If  there  is  a 
fate  or  a  guidance  for  poets,  it  was  ordained  that  Petrarch  should  speak  to 
thousands  through  Agnes  Tobin. 

English  interest  in  Petrarch  lagged  curiously  behind  interest  in  the 
other  Italian  poets.  There  were  versions  of  Dante,  Tasso,  Ariosto,  Pulci, 
Boiardo  at  a  time  when  Petrarch  was  little  more  than  a  name.  Even 
Michelangelo  was  probably  less  neglected  than  the  great  lord  of  the  trecento, 
the  earliest  of  the  humanists,  the  first  of  modern  men.  The  love  story  of 
Madonna  Laura  was  current,  but  the  perfect  poetical  expression  of  its 
pure  beauty  was  scarcely  known. 

By  dint  of  much  search  you  may  find  the  names  of  those  who  translated 
Petrarch  into  English  before  Agnes  Tobin.  The  greatest  was  Edmund 
Spenser,  but  how  many  have  read  his  fugitive  renderings?  Out  of  curiosity 
I  have  noted  the  names  of  some  who  from  time  to  time  gave  a  few  of  the 
sonnets  and  canzoni  to  English.  Major  Macgregor,  Moleworth,  Dr.  Nott. 
Miss  Wollaston,  Anne  Bannerman,  Mrs.  Wrottesley,  Dr.  Morehead,  Lord 
Charlemont  and  Lord  Woodhouselee — these  are  not  exactly  household  words. 
When  the  brilliant  Ugo  Foscolo  fled  Napoleon  and  was  lionized  in  London 
Lady  Dacre  made  some  graceful  translations  to  accompany  his  Petrarchan 
essays,  and  interest  in  Petrarch  became  fashionable  in  London's  drawing 
rooms. 

But  Petrarch  is  not  a  fad.  He  must  be  a  cult  or  nothing.  His  poetry 
must  be  approached  with  reverence,  with  sympathy,  with  deep  understand- 
ing. That  is  the  way  Agnes  Tobin  approached  her  master.  That  helps 
explain  why  she  has  given  us  a  sonnet  sequence  worthy  to  be  named  with 
the  great  sonnet  sequences  in  the  English  language. 

Miss  Tobin  tells  me  that  she  is  preparing  more  of  her  Petrarchan 
translations  for  the  press.  The  book  we  know  contains  the  sonnets  written 
after  Laura's  death.  Those  composed  during  Laura's  life,  says  Miss  Tobin, 
are  less  poignant  but  still  marvellously  beautiful.  She  has  translated  many 
of  these,  and  her  London  publisher  is  eager  to  make  a  book  of  them,  but 
Miss  Tobin  is  not  yet  ready.  I  can  imagine  Miss  Tobin  her  own  severest 
critic.  When  the  manuscript  finally  goes  to  the  publisher  there  will  ensue 
a  literary  event. 

Meanwhile  we  have  her  "Madonna  Laura."  It  is  the  lovelorn's  vade 
mecum.  Harking  "the  cry  and  all  the  tidal  sameness"  of  it  the  mind  goes 
winging  back  to  Vaucluse  and  Avignon.  Laura  has  but  lately  captured 
"the  white  glory  of  Death"  and  we  are  of  a  favored  company  weeping  by  her 
tomb.  The  old  poignancy  strikes  along  the  brain.  The  immortal  music 
sets  our  hearts  a-weeping.  We  are  out  of  conceit  with  living;  only  in  love 
with  love. 

That  old  medieval  wonderland  Agnes  Tobin  takes  us  to!  Is  it  France? 
Is  it  Italy?  No,  but  a  poet's  paradise,  a  fancy's  field  where  only  lovers  may 
stray  in  reverie  and  pluck  the  supernal  flowers  that  blossom,  blow  and  die 
between  the  rising  and  the  setting  of  a  dream. 

The  song  is  of  "Death,  that  Lord  of  High  Disdain,"  of  "self-abnegation, 

287 


VARIED     TYPES 

ardours  heavenly;"  yet  its  burden  changes  suddenly  to  "longing  like  a  fire" 
when  "Chastity  gives  Cupid  a  long  kiss"  and  the  soul  cries  out,  "Snatch 
back  my  stolen  sweet."  It  is  in  truth  lost  love  transfigured  to  music,  desire 
distilled  to  ecstacy  in  the  alembic  of  deprivation.  It  is  a  sad  sweet  song 
sung  by  the  fountain  of  Vaucluse,  and  what  is  Vaucluse  but  the  garden 
close  of  the  world  where  "all  things  die  but  Pain?" 
Go  there  with  Agnes  Tobin  and  thrill 

To  think  how  the  sun  rose  in  Avignon 
One  morning  of  a  spring  of  long  ago. 

If  "great  Grief"  has  taken  your  "body  for  his  hall,"  let  Agnes  Tobin's  "re- 
current rimes  becalm  the  trouble  of  the  heart."  Let  her  make  you  one  with 
"all  the  white-stoled  lovers  of  the  world,"  for  her  words,  thrice-refined  gold 
poured  into  the  mould  of  Petrarch,  are  of  a  "sweetness  that  stops  the  sun." 
All  you  who  have  lost  a  love,  buried  an  ideal,  entombed  a  dream,  yet 
fain  would  glorify  your  grief  and  make  your  desolation  live  a  mortal  span ; 
you  who  live  in  some  Vaucluse  of  the  soul  and  chant  dirge  to  delights  you 
may  never  encompass,  weep  for  sweets  you  may  never  enjoy — let  Agnes 
Tobin  sing  Petrarch  to  you.  It  shall  be  for  your  heart's  mortal  comfort  and 
your  soul's  eternal  good. 


288 


RICHARD  M.  TOBIN 


ICK"  TOBIN  is  our  preux  chevalier  of  polo.  As  Kipling  put 
it  about  the  captain  of  the  Lushkar  team,  he  plays  across 
a  polo  field  like  a  lambent  flame.  A  golfer  too  is  "Dick" 
Tobin;  in  fact,  a  lover  of  all  healthy  outdoor  activities. 

But  unlike  many  others  of  his  set  "Dick"  Tobin  is  not 
exclusively  an  open  air  man.  Can  you  picture  Walter 
Hobart  at  a  chamber  concert?  Or  burning  the  midnight 
mazda  over  a  volume  of  Chesterton?  There  is  no  such 
difficulty  in  the  case  of  "Dick"  Tobin.  Unroll  the  scroll  of  his  busy  and 
interesting  life,  examine  what  he  has  accomplished,  study  his  position — and 
you  will  find  that  his  has  been,  from  every  angle,  an  eminently  satisfactory 
career.  He  stands  at  the  forefront  of  a  banking  institution  known  all  over 
the  world ;  he  has  cultivated  the  rare  art  of  conversation ;  he  has  the  instinct 
of  graceful  hospitality ;  he  is  prominent  among  our  connoisseurs  of  literature, 
painting  and  music. 

His  love  of  music  had  brought  his  name  into  the  public  prints  a  good 
deal  of  late.  Noticing  that,  I  paid  him  a  visit  at  the  Hibernia  Bank.  I  went 
to  talk  with  Richard  M.  Tobin  because  he  was  active  in  the  affairs  of  the 
Musical  Association  of  San  Francisco.  That  body  had  given  us  our  symphony 
orchestra  and  was  busily  engaged  in  preparing  plans  for  a  magnificent  opera 
house.  Richard  M.  Tobin  is  one  of  the  board  of  governors  of  the  association. 
More  than  that,  he  is  on  the  music  committee.  So  he  is  having  much  to  do, 
and  will  in  the  future  have  a  great  deal  more  to  do,  with  directing  and 
improving  the  musical  taste  of  this  by  no  means  musically  benighted  com- 
munity. The  views  of  such  a  man  on  the  artistic  outlook  in  San  Francisco, 
particularly  in  so  far  as  music  is  concerned,  should  prove  very  interesting. 

"Residence  in  California  is  accompanied  by  many  delights  and  many 
benefits,"  he  began.  "Nowhere  is  there  a  more  lovely  climate  and  nowhere 
are  the  beauties  of  nature  so  entrancing.  Californians  have  nothing  to  regret 
so  far  as  the  natural  advantages  of  their  State  and  its  climate  are  concerned. 
We  do  lack,  however,  artistic  resources  and  interests.  The  thing  that  makes 
one  feel  most  our  remoteness  from  the  centers  of  civilization  is  the  very  rare 
opportunities  we  have  of  listening  to  the  opera,  of  hearing  good  music  in 
other  forms,  of  seeing  the  best  plays  and  the  drama  in  its  classic  form,  and 
of  looking  at  beautiful  pictures.  This  absence  of  artistic  interest  and 
aesthetic  resources,  it  must  be  frankly  confessed,  is  a  drawback  to  life  in 
California.  I  believe  that  it  is  this  disadvantage  that  has  led  so  many  men 
who  have  become  rich  here  to  take  their  families  to  live  in  other  parts  of 
the  world.  The  absence  of  intellectual  and  artistic  pleasures  is  particularly 
hard  upon  women  who  are  so  much  more  developed  upon  that  side  than  men 
are,  and  who  moreover  have  not  the  material  resources  of  business  affairs. 

289 


VARIED    TYPES 

"The  attractions  that  Europe  has  for  Americans  are  the  great  art 
galleries,  the  opera,  the  splendid  music  festivals.  The  need  of  this  country 
is  to  develop  artistically.  This  is  what  Colonel  Roosevelt  meant  when  he 
pointed  out  in  one  of  his  speeches  at  Berkeley  that  men  of  the  type  of  St. 
Gaudens  were  the  really  great  contemporary  Americans. 

"Consider  the  matter  of  painting,  for  instance.  A  writer  in  the  Nation 
points  out  that  a  collection  made  of  all  the  great  paintings  owned  by  Amer- 
icans would  not  bear  comparison  with  the  collection  of  any  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal European  cities.  He  affirms  that  American  art  collections  are  consider- 
able only  in  the  Dutch  school.  There  is  in  the  whole  of  America  only  one 
Botticelli  of  note. 

"I  think  it  is  plain  that  a  realization  of  this  deficiency  has  become 
general  within  the  last  ten  or  fifteen  years.  Up  to  that  time  no  very  great 
enthusiasm  for  art  had  been  exhibited  in  this  country,  either  by  the  nation 
or  by  its  citizens.  We  all  know  how  severely  those  who  brought  great 
masterpieces  of  art  into  this  country  were  penalized  by  the  fatuous  practice 
of  imposing  a  huge  duty  on  works  of  art.  It  is  said  that  the  beautiful 
collection  of  Mrs.  Gardener  almost  ruined  her  in  custom  duties,  though  it 
must  be  plain  that  her  superb  possessions  will  one  day  become  the  property 
of  the  nation. 

"Boston  and  New  York,  as  cities,  have  set  us  a  very  good  example.  The 
occasion  of  my  first  visit  to  Boston  was  to  hear  the  Boston  Symphony 
Orchestra  play,  and  to  see  the  frescoes  in  the  public  library.  I  should  have 
felt  well  rewarded  if  the  journey  had  been  as  far  as  Pekin.  These  two  ac- 
complishments in  art  are  sufficient  to  give  Boston  a  very  high  place  among 
the  cities  of  America. 

"New  York  is  manifesting  a  similar  enthusiasm.  The  collection  of  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  becomes  year  by  year  more  interesting  and  precious. 
The  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  thanks  to  the  generosity  of  the  rich  public- 
spirited  citizens  in  New  York,  has  now  a  season  which  in  many  ways  is 
unequalled  in  Europe.  Two  fine  orchestras  are  supported  by  similar  means. 
Mr.  Pulitzer  in  his  will  left  a  bequest  of  $400,000  to  the  New  York  Philhar- 
monic. The  history  of  the  New  Theatre  is  a  striking  example  of  what 
sacrifices  New  Yorkers  are  ready  to  make  to  increase  the  charm  and  the 
artistic  interest  of  their  city.  Through  the  personal  influence  of  Mr.  Morgan 
the  sum  of  over  $2,000,000  was  collected  in  the  hope  of  founding  an  American 
Comedie  Francaise.  And  now  San  Francisco  seems  to  have  become  animated 
by  the  same  inspiration. 

"Two  years  ago  a  symphony  orchestra  was  organized  here,  and  through 
the  munificence  of  some  three  hundred  of  our  citizens  has  been  placed  upon 
what  we  may  hope  is  a  permanent  basis.  It  has  given  a  great  deal  of  the 
best  kind  of  pleasure  to  those  who  love  classic  music.  We  have  a  great  many 
musicians  here  who  deserve  the  name  of  artist  in  its  highest  sense.  These 
have  been  assembled  in  the  San  Francisco  Orchestra  and  under  the  leadership 
of  Mr.  Hadley  have  after  a  short  existence  of  less  than  two  years  begun  to 
play  in  a  manner  that  may  be  compared  to  the  best  orchestras  of  our  country. 

290 


RICHARD     M.    TOBIN 


RICHARD     M.    TOBIN 

The  performance  that  was  given  of  Richard  Strauss'  tone  poem,  'Death  and 
Transfiguration'  may  well  have  been  a  source  of  pride  and  satisfaction  to 
everybody  who  has  hopes  for  the  artistic  development  of  this  city.  The 
manner  in  which  the  public  has  supported  the  enterprise  shows  how  anxious 
the  people  here  are  for  good  music  and  how  appreciative  when  it  is  given. 

"The  success  of  the  Symphony  Society  has,  I  believe,  been  the  inspiration 
for  the  creation  of  an  opera  house.  San  Francisco  is  fortunate  to  possess 
among  its  citizens  one  who  combines  public  spirit  with  ability  and  constancy 
of  purpose,  and  who  enjoys  moreover  to  a  high  degree  the  confidence  of  his 
fellow  citizens.  Mr.  Crocker  modestly  depreciates  the  difficulties  of  his 
undertaking;  but  the  fact  remains  that  in  a  very  short  space  of  time  he  has 
secured  contributions  to  the  extent  of  over  $600,000  towards  the  purpose  of 
the  opera  house.  The  contributors  of  this  vast  sum  will  receive  no  material 
advantage,  except  the  privilege  of  being  permitted  to  purchase  their  own 
boxes  for  such  performances  as  may  be  given. 

"The  erection  of  this  opera  house  is  the  one  thing  that  could  have  made 
possible  the  performance  of  opera  in  San  Francisco.  In  order  to  induce  the 
management  of  the  great  opera  organizations  in  the  East  to  bring  their 
artists  here,  and  to  face  the  great  initial  loss  involved  by  the  journey,  it  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  have  a  house  large  enough  to  hold  an  audience 
sufficient  in  size  to  insure  an  adequate  return.  None  of  our  theatres  could 
possibly  have  held  such  an  audience.  In  an  opera  house  such  as  is  planned 
I  believe  we  may  expect  a  yearly  visit  from  the  Metropolitan  Opera  Company, 
which  means  of  course  performances  given  by  the  greatest  of  living  artists. 

"Moreover  a  home  will  be  provided  for  organizations  like  the  symphony 
society,  where  they  can  give  their  performances  and  conduct  their  studies 
and  rehearsals  amidst  sympathetic  and  encouraging  surroundings. 

"I  hope  and  believe  that  the  enterprise  of  a  municipal  art  gallery  is  not 
very  far  off.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  we  have  not  a  collection  of 
pictures  for  the  entertainment  and  improvement  of  our  fellow  citizens  of  the 
character  possessed  by  the  cities  of  Chicago,  New  York  and  Pittsburg.  When 
this  shall  have  been  accomplished  those  who  live  and  die  in  California  will 
not  have  so  much  to  regret  as  they  have  now.  With  the  masterpieces  of  art 
within  reach  the  desire  of  Californians  ever  to  leave  their  lovely  State  must 
surely  be  diminished.  San  Francisco  needs  only  this  artistic  charm  to  become 
a  true  metropolis  of  the  West.  I  believe  that  many  who  now  journey  to  the 
East  and  to  Europe  would  be  happy,  if  we  had  fine  music  and  fine. pictures 
to  show  them,  to  come  to  stay  in  San  Francisco. 

"It  is  highly  important  for  the  encouragement  of  music  that  the  sur- 
roundings should  be  of  a  harmonious  and  sympathetic  nature,  and  that  one 
should  be  protected  from  all  distractions.  In  my  mind  the  correct  idea  of  an 
opera  house  is  the  Prinz  Regenten  in  Munich.  There  one  is  given  a 
comfortable  seat,  and  an  unrestricted  view  of  the  stage  is  secured  by  the  fact 
that  the  head  of  the  person  next  in  front  is  almost  at  one's  feet.  Performances 
are  carried  on  in  religious  silence  and  in  complete  darkness.  In  the  entr'  acte 
one  can  walk  about  in  a  delightful  garden  where  there  is  nothing  to  shock 

293 


VARIED     TYPES 

the  imagination  or  to  dispel  the  charm  that  the  music  has  cast.  I  think  we 
may  fairly  hope  to  have  something  like  this  in  San  Francisco.  Mr.  Redding 
who  has  gone  abroad  in  the  interest  of  the  project,  will  return  with  models 
of  the  very  best  opera  houses  in  Europe.  I  think  that  the  citizens  of  San 
Francisco  may  confidently  look  forward  to  the  possession  of  an  opera  house 
which  for  beauty  and  comfort  and  sympathetic  surroundings  will  compare 
with  any. 

"One  of  the  most  delightful  features  of  the  whole  affair  is  the  harmonious 
and  spirited  manner  in  which  our  prominent  citizens  have  combined  in  this 
project.  We  have  often  been  taunted  with  a  lack  of  harmony  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. This  incident  would  seem  to  show  that  disunion,  if  it  ever  existed, 
has  gone,  and  I  believe  that  in  no  city  in  the  country  of  the  size  and  wealth 
of  San  Francisco  could  so  important  an  enterprise  have  found  such  ready  and 
enthusiastic  support." 

These  words  were  spoken  by  Mr.  Tobin  more  than  two  years  ago. 
Nobody  dreamed  then  of  the  amazing  manner  in  which  the  glorious  project 
of  a  Municipal  Opera  House  was  to  be  done  to  death.  The  circumstances 
in  which  the  labor  of  our  most  devoted  citizens  was  brought  to  naught  make 
one  of  the  most  humiliating  chapters  in  local  history.  There  is  no  need  of 
repeating  the  story  here.  The  bare  remembrance  brings  a  pang  to  every 
lover  of  music.  To  the  men  who  bear  responsibility  for  the  crime  against 
art  the  recollection  must  bring  a  flood  of  shame. 


294 


RICHARD  WALTON  TULLY 


'UPPOSE  you   were  a  young  person  who  had  written  the 
great  American   drama,  and  suppose  you  took  it  to   Dick 
£  Tully  to  find  out  what  he  thought  about  it.     Then  suppose 
he  made  no  move  to  take  the  manuscript  (nicely  rolled  and 
Acutely  tied  with  a  bit  of  ribbon),  but  instead  fixed  you  with 
s  cold  spectacled  eye  and  transfixed  you  with  these : 

"What  salary  do  you  work  for?" 
"How  many  hour-pounds  did  you  put  into  your  play?" 

What  would  you  think  of  Richard  Walton  Tully,  playwright?  Would 
you  be  indignant?  Would  you  tell  him  he  was  an  impertinent  thing?  Or 
just  what  would  you  do?  I  ask  to  know.  I  haven't  had  the  experience 
myself,  but  many  must  have  had  it.  For  Tully  is  beset  with  young  writers 
of  the  great  American  drama.  And  he  says  himself  that  he  always  begins 
the  interview  with  those  questions. 

"A  young  fellow  comes  to  me,"  explained  Tully,  using  the  dramatic 
present  tense.  "He  has  a  play.  Will  I  please  look  it  over  and  say  what  I 
think  of  it?  Instead  of  looking  it  over  I  ask  him:  'What  salary  do  you 
earn?'  Ten  to  one  he  thinks  I'm  too  inquisitive.  But  he  tells  me,  let  us 
say,  twenty-five  dollars  a  week.  So.  'And  how  much  time  did  you  put  in 
on  this  play?'  Perhaps  he  has  put  in  six  weeks,  two  months.  So.  'I  suppose 
you  know  a  good  play  is  worth  at  least  $25,000?  And  here  you've  given 
two  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  your  time  to  earn  $25,000.'  It  begins  to  dawn 
on  him  that  a  successful  play  isn't  written  in  two  months." 

"How  long  does  it  take  you  to  write  a  play?"  I  asked. 

"From  one  to  three  years,"  answered  Tully,  sitting  on  his  hands  and 
rocking  one  leg  over  the  other. 

"There  is  a  dynamics  of  art,"  he  continued.  "I've  worked  it  out.  In 
my  theory  success  combines  hour-pounds  of  energy  with  the  proper  direction 
of  the  artist's  mental  vision." 

The  man  who  shares  the  success  of  "The  Rose  of  the  Rancho"  with 
David  Belasco,  whose  "Bird  of  Paradise"  and  "Omar  the  Tentmaker"  have 
been  given  on  Broadway  and  who  calls  that  august  individual  Mr.  Frohman 
by  the  familiar  "Charley"  of  intimacy,  ought  to  know  something  about 
success.  So  I  begged  that  he  elucidate. 

"You  know,"  he  enlightened,  "that  when  you  lift  a  pound  a  foot  that's 
a  foot-pound.  Well,  when  an  artist  exerts  his  artistic  energy  for  an  hour 
I  call  that  an  hour-pound.  Let  us  suppose  that  John  Smith  works  for  a 
year  on  a  play.  He  accumulates,  say,  one  thousand  hour-pounds.  Then 
he  engages  a  company  of  twenty  and  they  rehearse  for  six  weeks.  Twenty 
multiplied  by  six  weeks  will  give  their  hour-pounds.  The  orchestra  supplies 
more  hour-pounds.  When  the  first  night  comes  John  Smith  has  probably 

295 


VARIED    TYPES 

accumulated  ten  thousand  hour-pounds  and  their  force  is  all  ready  to  rush 
out  when  the  curtain  rises.  Tom  Jones  sits  in  the  audience  for  two  hours 
and  a  half.  Those  ten  thousand  hour-pounds  hit  him  in  two  hours  and  a 
half.  If  the  artistic  form  of  the  play  is  correct,  if  the  direction  of  the  artist's 
energy  is  right,  Tom  Jones  gets  an  absolute  uplift  of  feeling,  of  emotion. 
The  play  is  a  success. 

"I  explain  this  theory  of  mine  to  the  people  who  bring  me  their 
manuscripts.  I'm  afraid  they  find  me  unsatisfactory.  It  is  so  hard  to  explain 
to  them  sometimes  why  their  plays  are  not  suited  for  the  stage.  After  all, 
what  is  a  play?  Take  an  operating  room.  You  have  a  stage,  you  have  the 
actors,  you  have  the  properties,  you  have  an  audience.  But  an  autopsy  isn't 
a  play.  So  many  people  write  psychic  autopsies,  and  get  mad  because  they 
are  not  produced.  The  manager  tells  them  that  the  public  doesn't  want 
autopsies.  The  manager  is  the  man  who  knows  what  the  great  public  at 
this  time  considers  a  play.  Nothing  that  the  public  won't  come  and  pay  to 
see  will  ever  live  as  a  play.  But  the  beginners  find  it  hard  to  believe  this. 
And  some  of  them  won't  change  their  plays.  The  man  with  the  immortal 
manuscript  which  he  won't  change  had  better  stay  away  from  the  stage. 

"The  first  thing  for  the  beginner  to  do  is  to  find  out  what  a  play  is.  He 
must  become  actively  associated  with  the  actual  theatre,  preferably  from 
the  stage  side.  He  must  establish  that  intimacy  with  the  audience  which 
the  actor  knows.  He  must  learn  that  the  shade  between  drama  and  narrative 
is  very  slight,  that  it  may  merely  consist  of  two  words,  but  that  it's  all  the 
difference  in  the  world.  He  must  get  to  know  the  unbreakable  bond  between 
the  audience  and  the  play  so  that  while  writing  he  will  have  the  ever-present 
movement  of  the  play  in  front  of  him  and  the  audience  in  front  of  the  play. 
"Some  say  that  the  draamtist  is  born,  not  made.  I  don't  believe  it. 
People  can't  write  successful  plays  until  they  have  learned  the  use  of  their 
tools.  They  must  learn  to  write  plays  as  the  physician  learns  to  operate  or 
the  sculptor  to  make  a  statue.  And  for  the  complete  playwright  the  stage 
requires  the  widest  knowledge.  First  of  all  the  playwright  must  establish 
that  sympathetic  bond  between  his  play  and  the  audience.  Then  he  must 
know  how  to  twist  a  story,  as  Pinero  says,  to  weave  it  in  and  out,  to  be  in 
the  literal  meaning  of  the  word,  a  play-fashioner,  a  play-twister.  Thirdly, 
and  this  is  the  least  important,  he  must  be  a  playwriter  as  well  as  a  play- 
wright; he  must  put  his  play  in  proper  language.  Fourthly,  he  must  be 
a  landscape  painter,  seeing  his  scene  in  a  frame  and  making  it  beautiful ;  an 
architect,  building  his  houses  as  modern  houses  are  built;  a  sculptor,  not 
molding  his  players  by  hand,  it  is  true,  but  selecting  them  for  their  looks 
to  suit  his  characters;  and  a  musician,  so  that  if  there  is  to  be  incidental 
music,  he  will  know  what  is  fitting  and  what  discordant. 

"Of  course  the  beginner  must  have  experience  of  life.  He  must  have 
come  into  direct  association  with  life,  for  he  can  only  write  what  he  knows. 
The  public  has  been  educated  to  catch  the  false  note  at  once. 

"It's  only  hard  work  that  brings  success  to  the  playwright.  That  was 
the  greatest  thing  Belasco  taught  me.  Of  course  there  is  the  inspirational 
flash  which  comes  under  auspicious  conditions.  But  that  flash  must  come 

296 


RICHARD     WALTON    TULLY 


RICHARD    WALTON    TULLY 

again  and  again  before  you  can  twist  it  into  a  play.  Meanwhile  you  must 
keep  at  work  between  flashes.  The  harder  you  work  the  oftener  the  flashes 
will  come.  When  your  play  is  finished  you'll  probably  be  so  tired  of  the 
work  that  you'll  distrust  all  the  inspirational  flashes  and  think  that  your 
play  is  rotten.  But  if  the  hour-pounds  are  there  and  the  energy  was  properly 
directed,  the  play  will  succeed. 

"Personally  I've  been  at  this  work  for  twelve  years.  I  was  twenty- 
three  when  I  wrote  'James  Wobberts,  Freshman'  for  the  University  of 
California.  It  has  been  played  in  about  one  hundred  high  schools  and  is 
still  being  used.  I  worked  for  two  years  on  'Juanita  of  San  Juan.'  Then  I 
put  in  another  year  on  it  with  Belasco  before  it  became  'The  Rose  of  the 
Rancho.'  Next  I  wrote  'Cupid  the  Cow-punch'  from  Mrs.  Tully's  novel.  It 
was  tried  out  at  Ye  Liberty.  I'm  still  working  on  it.  Then  came  'The  Bird 
of  Paradise.'  I  spent  a  year  preparing  for  it  by  reading  more  than  one 
hundred  books  on  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  I  spent  two  years  writing  it.  It 
was  bought  by  the  New  Theatre  and  I  was  sent  to  Hawaii  to  buy  properties, 
get  the  music,  verify  my  local  color  and  so  on.  Meanwhile  the  New  Theatre 
closed.  I  decided  to  produce  it  myself.  I  tried  it  out  in  Los  Angeles  and 
it  ran  there  for  five  weeks.  Then  it  went  to  New  York. 

"Why  did  I  try  it  out  in  Los  Angeles  instead  of  San  Francisco?  For 
several  reasons.  In  the  first  place  there  is  no  manager  in  San  Francisco  at 
present  who  takes  an  interest  in  new  plays  as  Bishop  used  to  do  and  as  his 
brother  Oliver  Morosco  does  now  in  Los  Angeles.  The  Alcazar  only 
occasionally  puts  on  a  new  play.  Besides  that,  San  Francisco  has  the  most 
critical  attitude  toward  dramatic  art  of  any  city  in  the  country.  You  are 
used  to  plays  that  have  been  through  the  polishing  mill.  So  the  new  play- 
wright is  at  a  disadvantage  here.  He  brings  a  play  that  must  be  polished 
by  production,  and  not  being  used  to  untried  plays,  you  line  his  work  up 
alongside  a  play  that  has  been  given  seven  hundred  times. 

"In  Los  Angeles  it  is  different.  For  fifteen  years  Oliver  Morosco  has 
been  producing  native  plays,  new  plays.  Los  Angeles  is  trained  on  the 
standard  of  new  productions.  It  is  a  'dog  town,'  to  use  the  slang  of  the 
craft.  Besides  it  has  many  easterners  who  have  lived  in  other  'dog  towns.' 
It  never  criticises  a  new  venture  as  it  does  an  old  one." 

So  there  you  are.  The  aspiring  young  man  with  the  great  American 
play  in  process  of  writing  is  welcome  to  these  instructions  from  a  successful 
playwright.  And  when  he  gets  his  play  wrought  as  well  as  written,  let  him 
take  it  to  Los  Angeles  and  'try  it  on  the  dog.' 


299 


S2 


R 


JAMES  T.  TURNER 


EADER,  do  you  know  the  Fresno  Beer  Hall  in  Fresno? 
Right  next  to  Uncle  Ike's?  Down  by  the  Southern  Pacific 
depot?  Well,  if  you  don't  know  it,  the  loss  is  yours  as  well 
as  the  proprietors',  for  the  beer  they  draw  there  is  sharp  and 
cool  and  Fresno's  is  at  times  a  thirsty  climate.  If  you  know  it, 
you  may  know  also  the  gentlemanly  proprietors,  serious- 
looking  Fred  Dahnken  with  the  spectacles  and  Jim  Turner 
with  the  keen  blue  eyes  and  the  luxuriant  hair.  Let  me  tell 
you  that  there  never  were  two  more  popular  saloon  keepers  in  the  metropolis 
of  the  raisin  belt. 

You  haven't  seen  Fred  Dahnken  and  Jim  Turner  in  the  Fresno  Beer 
Hall  for  some  time?  Right  you  are!  They  own  it  still,  and  it's  doing  very 
well,  thank  you !  but  its  gentlemanly  proprietors  haven't  been  giving  it  much 
personal  attention  for  some  time.  If  Fresno  went  dry  (as  it  has  threatened 
to  do  off  and  on),  and  the  Fresno  Beer  Hall  went  out  of  business,  Fred  and 
Jim  wouldn't  turn  a  hair.  They'd  mourn  it  for  old  times'  sake  and  because 
it  provided  the  foundation  of  their  fortunes,  but  in  a  pecuniary  sense  they'd 
never  miss  it. 

For  Fred  and  Jim  have  been  making  fortunes  during  the  last  few  years 
in  the  moving  picture  business.  A  little  over  two  years  ago  a  financial 
transaction  connected  with  moving  picture  interests  took  Jim  Turner  to  New 
York.  He  was  offered  a  sum  of  money,  a  sum  that  staggered  him,  for  certain 
interests  he  and  Fred  controlled,  and  he  wired  Fred  to  find  out  what  to  do. 
Fred  was  right  back  at  him  with  this: 

"Accept.     More  money  than  you  and  I  can  spend." 

Perhaps  it  was,  but  Turner  and  Dahnken  have  kept  on  coining  money 
ever  since. 

Some  time  ago  we  were  all  shocked  to  learn  that  "Doc"  Leahy  had  leased 
the  magnificent  new  Tivoli  to  moving  picture  people.  When  we  got  over 
the  shock  we  were  curious  to  know  who  were  the  people  that  figured  on 
filling  the  Tivoli's  two  thousand  seats  all  day  and  night  long  with  moving 
picture  audiences.  The  answer  was,  Turner  and  Dahnken.  But  who  are 
they?  I  went  and  asked  Turner  about  himself  and  Fred. 

Fred  Dahnken  and  Jim  Turner  were  born  in  the  little  town  of  Antioch. 
They  played  together  as  kids ;  they  were  chums  at  school ;  they  were  sworn 
pals  as  young  men ;  they  are  partners  now.  From  youth  to  manhood  they 
shared  every  enterprise.  Fred  has  had  fifty  cents  of  every  dollar  Jim  ever 
made,  and  vice  versa. 

"And  we've  never  had  a  row,"  says  Jim. 

"No,"  laughs  Fred,  "we  have  never  quarreled." 

Fred  Dahnken  is  a  little  older  than  Jim  Turner.     He  was  out  of  school 

300 


JAMES    T.    TURNER 


JAMES    T.    TURNER 

first,  and  when  Jim  got  his  diploma,  Fred  was  running  the  Arlington  Hotel 
at  Antioch.  Fred  took  Jim  in  as  clerk.  But  pretty  soon  it  was  evident  that 
there  wasn't  work  enough  for  both  of  them. 

"Jim,"  said  Fred,  "why  not  look  around  for  a  business  of  some  sort?" 
"All  right,  Fred,"  said  Jim,  "and  when  I  get  started  I'll  take  you  in." 
Jim  found  the  chance  he  was  looking  for  in  Fresno.  He  got  the  Fresno 
Beer  Hall,  right  next  to  Uncle  Ike's  down  by  the  Southern  Pacific  depot. 
And  he  took  Fred  in.  They  did  very  nicely,  for  as  I  said  before,  the  beer 
they  drew  was  sharp  and  cool  and  there  is  thirst  in  the  very  air  of  Fresno. 
But  they  were  not  satisfied  to  plod.  They  knew  Peter  Bacigalupi  and  were 
aware  that  he  had  made  a  fortune  out  of  the  penny  arcade  business.  So  they 
opened  a  penny  arcade  in  Fresno.  They  did  a  fine  business  for  three  months, 
but  after  that  not  so  many  pennies  tinkled  into  the  slots,  so  they  packed  up 
their  machines  and  went  to  Portland  for  the  Fair.  Their  experience  may 
have  provided  a  valuable  hint  for  1915  purveyors. 

"The  penny  arcades  on  the  Fair  grounds  lost  money,"  says  Jim  Turner, 
"but  we  got  a  place  down  town  and  made  a  lot  of  money."  They  had  been 
in  Portland  a  year  when  our  big  fire  took  place. 

"Before  the  fire  was  out,"  says  Jim  Turner,  "we  had  a  penny  arcade 
started  on  Fillmore  street  between  Eddy  and  Ellis." 

They  stayed  at  that  for  a  year  and  a  half,  doing  well  at  first  and  not  so 
well  later  on.  They  cast  about  for  the  reason.  They  found  it  in  the  moving 
picture  shows  that  were  just  beginning  to  attract  people.  So  they  turned 
their  penny  arcade  into  a  moving  picture  show. 

"We  stored  $17,000  worth  of  penny  arcade  machines,"  says  Jim  Turner, 
"and  they're  in  storage  still.  I  was  offered  $200  for  them  the  other  day,  and 
I  guess  that's  all  they're  worth.  The  penny  arcade  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  The 
moving  picture  killed  it." 

That  first  moving  picture  house  did  so  well  that  pretty  soon  Turner 
and  Dahnken  opened  another  in  the  Arcade  Building  a  block  down  Fillmore 
street.  Then  they  started  a  film  exchange.  There  were  three  film  exchanges 
already,  Miles  Brothers,  the  Novelty  and  the  Clapham,  but  Turner  and 
Dahnken  thought  there  was  room  for  one  more.  There  was. 

"We  were  more  successful  than  the  others,"  says  Turner,  "because  we 
kept  on  opening  moving  picture  houses  of  our  own.  We  built  up  a  fine 
business." 

They  opened  the  Globe  in  the  Mission,  and  two  movie  houses  in  Market 
street,  the  leases  of  which  they  afterwards  sold  to  Alexander  Pantages  when 
he  wanted  to  build  a  vaudeville  theatre  in  San  Francisco. 

A  little  over  two  years  ago  the  nine  big  film  manufacturing  concerns 
of  the  country,  the  Pathe,  the  Essanay,  the  Biograph,  the  Lubin,  the  Kalem, 
the  Vitagraph,  the  Edison,  the  Melie  and  George  Kleine,  got  together  and 
formed  the  General  Film  Company,  popularly  known  as  "the  film  trust." 
That  meant  the  doom  of  all  the  little  film  exchanges  throughout  the  country. 
Turner  and  Dahnken  realized  that  a  bit  more  quickly  than  most  others 
engaged  in  the  business.  Turner  went  to  New  York  and  sold  out.  That  was 
the  time  he  got  the  staggering  offer  of  a  sum  which  Fred  Dahnken  said  was 

303 


VARIED    TYPES 

''more  money  than  you  and  I  can  spend."  I  asked  Turner  how  much  it  was. 
"A  fortune,"  he  replied.  I  have  heard  that  the  General  Film  Company  paid 
them  $250,000. 

At  the  present  time  Turner  and  Dahnken  have  ten  moving  picture 
theatres :  two  in  Berkeley,  one  in  Richmond,  one  in  Oakland,  one  in  Alameda, 
one  in  Fresno,  one  in  Sacramento,  one  in  San  Jose,  the  Globe  in  the  Mission 
and — their  particular  pride — the  Tivoli.  Their  San  Jose  investment  for  lot 
and  building  is  $110,000;  and  they  are  preparing  to  build  their  own  theatres 
in  Sacramento  and  Richmond.  They  entertain  about  25,000  people  a  day. 

"The  moving  picture  business  is  in  its  infancy,"  says  Turner.  "It  is  just 
entering  the  big  production  stage.  The  day  of  the  short  film  has  passed. 
People  want  to  see  big  productions  like  'Quo  Vadis'  or  'The  Third  Degree' 
in  a  big  roomy  comfortable  theatre  where  there  is  plenty  of  air.  What  chance 
has  the  legitimate  theatre  against  us?  We  give  a  better  production  for  less 
money.  There  is  only  so  much  money  to  be  spent  on  amusement,  and  more 
and  more  of  it  is  being  spent  in  the  moving  picture  theatres.  The  best  proof 
is  that  they  are  prosperous  while  the  houses  of  legitimate  drama  are  com- 
plaining of  bad  business.  No  wonder  we  turned  people  away  from  the  big 
Tivoli  at  every  production  of  'The  Third  Degree.'  The  film  play  costs 
twenty  cents,  while  you  had  to  pay  a  dollar  and  a  half  to  see  the  play. 
Another  thing :  Supper  in  a  cafe  has  come  to  be  part  of  theatregoing.  If  you 
take  a  lady  to  the  theatre  she  expects  supper  afterwards.  But  you  don't  think 
of  going  to  supper  from  a  moving  picture  show.  And  mind  you,  people  come 
to  the  Tivoli  films  in  their  limousines." 

Finally  Jim  Turner  gave  me  his  recipe  for  success  in  the  moving  picture 
business : 

"We  give  as  much  as  we  can  for  the  money;  we  supply  good  music  and 
first  class  entertainment;  and  we  try  to  have  the  best  equipment  possible." 

I  take  it  that  recipe  also  accounts  for  the  success  of  the  Fresno  Beer  Hall 
down  in  the  thirsty  metropolis  of  the  raisin  belt. 


304 


RAPHAEL  WEILL 


U. 


ALL  RAPHAEL  WEILL  a  clubman;  call  him  a  boule- 
vardier;  regard  him  as  a  patron  of  the  arts  and  belles 
lettres;  dub  him  dilettante  or  connoisseur  in  your  own 
particular  acceptation  of  those  widely  different  words ;  praise 
him  for  his  philanthropy ;  extol  him  as  a  gourmet  and  a  chef ; 
look  upon  him  as  the  oldest  and  most  eligible  bachelor  in 
society.  His  familiars  will  admit  the  justice  of  all  you  say, 
but  still  they  will  shake  their  heads  and  tell  you  that  you 
have  missed  the  most  important  characteristic  of  the  man.  What  can  that 
be?  you  ask.  And  you  are  informed  that  it  is  Raphael  Weill's  genius  for 
friendship. 

It  was  wise  old  Sam  Johnson  who  said,  "If  a  man  does  not  make  new 
friendships  as  he  passes  through  life,  he  will  soon  find  himself  let  alone.  A 
man  should  keep  his  friendships  in  constant  repair."  That  is  what  Raphael 
Weill  has  done  all  through  life,  not  consciously,  I  imagine,  but  through 
the  prompting  of  an  instinct  which  is  part  of  his  genius  for  friendship.  For 
more  than  half  a  century  the  men  and  women  of  San  Francisco  who  were 
worth  while  have  been  grappled  to  his  soul  with  hooks  of  steel.  In  years 
Raphael  Weill  is  an  old  man ;  consequently  many  of  those  who  were  dear 
to  him  have  passed  away.  To  those  old  friends  who  remain  he  is  every  year 
knitted  closer  and  closer,  for  he  believes  with  his  own  La  Fontaine  that 
"friendship  is  the  shadow  of  the  evening,  which  strengthens  with  the  setting 
sun  of  life."  And  in  the  place  of  those  who  have  passed  he  enshrines  others, 
picking  them  with  a  sureness  that  is  seldom  or  never  mistaken. 

Go  into  the  beautiful  office  from  which  he  directs  the  great  business 
establishment  with  which  his  name  is  instantly  associated  by  all  San 
Franciscans,  and  you  will  find  on  his  desk  a  score  of  photographs.  They 
are  the  photographs  of  children. 

"My  children,"  he  will  tell  you ;  "the  children  of  my  friends,  but  never- 
theless my  children  because  I  have  none  of  my  own." 

Most  of  those  children  represent  the  third  generation  of  unbroken 
friendships.  Raphael  Weill  knew  and  loved  their  fathers  and  mothers  before 
those  children  were  brought  into  the  world ;  he  knew  and  loved  their  grand- 
fathers and  grandmothers  when  those  fathers  and  mothers  were  themselves 
children.  That  sort  of  friendship,  continuing  from  generation  to  generation, 
is  very  rare;  one  might  almost  say  unique.  Only  a  man  who  has  a  genius 
for  friendship  could  boast  it. 

We  all  know  something  about  Raphael  Weill's  charities  and  philan- 
thropies. We  know  that  in  memory  of  his  dear  friend  Fire  Chief  Sullivan 
he  founded  a  gold  medal  for  heroism  in  the  department,  a  medal  which  bears, 
not  his  name,  but  the  name  of  his  friend  the  dead  chief.  We  know  that  after 

305 


the  earthquake  and  fire  he  distributed  two  thousand  dresses  among  the 
needy  women  of  the  city.  We  know  that  the  champions  of  a  charitable 
cause  have  never  appealed  to  him  in  vain.  And  we  realize  with  pleasure 
that  his  goodness  of  heart  thus  publicly  manifested  has  been  publicly 
proclaimed  and  rewarded.  When  he  went  to  Paris  after  the  calamity  of 
1906  the  republic  gave  him  the  red  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  in 
recognition  of  what  he  had  done  for  his  fellow-citizens.  And  he  told  them : 

"You  are  unable  to  decorate  all  the  men  and  women  of  San  Francisco 
for  what  they  have  done,  and  so  you  decorate  them  through  me.  On  behalf 
of  them  all  I  thank  you." 

He  wears  the  narrow  red  ribbon  in  his  coat,  but  it  is  not  nearly  as 
dear  to  him  as  is  the  loving  cup  which  the  Women  of  San  Francisco  presented 
to  him  on  the  same  occasion.  With  the  cup  was  a  parchment  volume 
containing  the  names  of  the  most  representative  women  of  this  city,  the 
women  who  had  given  him  the  loving  cup.  His  eyes  glisten  as  he  turns 
the  beautiful  pages  of  that  volume. 

These  and  other  testimonials  like  them  are  public  expressions  of 
appreciation  for  Raphael  Weill's  benefactions.  But  of  his  larger  charities 
there  is  no  record.  You  must  go  among  his  friends  to  learn  of  his  secret 
welldoing.  All  of  Raphael  Weill's  friends  are  not  blessed  with  worldly 
prosperity.  Many  of  them  find  the  struggle  for  decent  existence  very 
difficult.  How  many  of  them  would  find  it  well  nigh  impossible  if  it  were 
not  for  Raphael  Weill?  There  is  no  way  of  telling.  Many  of  his  oldtime 
friends  died  and  left  their  families  in  straits.  Raphael  Weill  has  always 
regarded  it  as  one  of  the  sacred  obligations  of  friendship  to  assist  such 
families.  I  have  been  told  of  many  instances,  but  not  by  Raphael  Weill.  He 
is  of  course  silent  in  these  matters. 

Perhaps  it  is  this  genius  for  friendship  which  keeps  Raphael  Weill  in 
San  Francisco.  This  city  has  been  his  home  and  the  home  of  his  friends 
for  more  than  fifty  years.  But  his  heart  is  a  great  deal  in  Paris.  There  too 
he  has  many  friends,  friends  among  the  great  of  the  earth.  When  he  goes 
to  Paris,  as  he  does  every  year,  picking  up  his  bags  and  starting  off  for  the 
capital  of  the  world  with  much  the  same  unconcern  that  you  or  I  would  go 
avisiting  to  Oakland  or  San  Jose,  when  he  goes  to  Paris  he  goes  from  one 
circle  of  friends  to  another.  He  knows  all  the  interesting  men  and  women 
of  Paris.  He  is  as  intimate  with  Bernhardt  and  Anatole  France  as  he  is  with 
Mrs.  Eleanor  Martin  and  Frank  Unger.  Years  ago  he  formed  the  habit 
of  dropping  in  at  a  little  library  on  the  boulevards  where  all  the  great 
authors  and  journalists  might  be  found  after  the  theatre  and  where  the 
brilliant  conversation  lasted  into  the  wee  sma'  hours.  He  met  there  Hugo 
(whom,  according  to  many,  he  much  resembles  in  appearance),  Daudet,  the 
Goncourts  and  all  the  rest  of  the  men  who  helped  make  French  literary 
history  during  the  last  three  or  four  decades  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

It  was  inevitable  that  such  associations  should  sharpen  his  appetite  for 
good  books.  Hear  him  discourse  about  a  novel  by  Anatole  France  or  about 
a  first  edition  of  "Pickwick"  and  you  will  be  as  charmed  as  when  you  listen 
to  his  reminiscences  of  friendship.  His  judgment  of  books  is  sound.  So 

306 


RAPHAEL    WEILL 


RAPHAEL    WEILL 

too  his  judgment  of  pictures  and  statues.  But  he  is  not  merely  a  connoisseur; 
he  is  a  Maecenas  too.  Struggling-  authors  have  been  enabled  to  publish 
through  his  kindness.  In  the  closing  days  of  1911  he  took  it  upon  himself 
to  publish  the  poems  of  the  late  Lucius  Harwood  Foote,  simply  because 
Foote  was  an  old  friend  and  an  old  man  who  would  die  happier  for  seeing 
his  life  work  in  book  form.  Joe  Strong,  the  painter,  and  Robert  Aitken,  the 
sculptor,  were  among  those  whom  he  sent  to  Paris  for  study.  If  he  kept 
his  pictures  and  statues,  he  would  have  a  wonderful  collection.  But  he 
doesn't.  Most  of  them  have  gone  to  the  Bohemian  Club  or  to  the  museum 
in  Golden  Gate  Park. 

Raphael  Weill's  portrait  has  been  painted  many  times.  But  perhaps 
the  portrait  of  which  he  is  fondest  was  that  in  which  his  dear  friend  Joe 
Strong  showed  him  in  a  cook's  cap  and  apron  preparing  a  ragout.  It  is  an 
excellent  likeness  and  it  commemorates  one  side  of  Raphael  Weill's  varied 
life.  For  Weill  loves  to  cook  for  his  friends.  He  is  perhaps  our  greatest 
gourmet. 

"The  way  he  orders  a  luncheon  is  a  demonstration  of  genius,"  a  friend 
of  his  told  me  the  other  day.  "No  two  of  his  luncheons  are  ever  the  same. 
He  has  an  inexhaustible  talent  for  new  combinations  of  dishes." 

In  Paris  he  discovered  a  restaurant  which  has  since  become  famous 
among  Parisians  and  Americans  alike.  In  San  Francisco  he  calls  the  best 
chefs  friend  and  brother.  He  has  cooked  breakfasts  at  the  Bohemian  Club 
which  have  become  part  of  the  club  tradition  and  are  spoken  of  in  tones 
of  admiring  awe.  Those  who  have  partaken  of  frogs'  legs  a  la  Raphael 
Weill  or  of  the  ham  or  the  mackerel  which  he  prepares  in  champagne  have 
been  known  to  declare  that  life  was  richer  for  the  experience.  There  is  a 
story,  too,  that  Raphael  Weill  fainted  when  a  guest  put  ice  in  a  claret  which 
had  been  brought  by  cunning  manipulation  to  just  the  proper  temperature. 
The  story  may  not  be  true.  Such  stories  don't  have  to  be  true.  They  need 
merely  be  symbolical  of  the  truth.  And  this  story  is  all  that. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Raphael  Weill  gets  a  great  deal  of  pleasure 
out  of  life.  He  is  in  reality  a  very  young  man,  with  a  young  man's  very 
simple  tastes.  But  in  addition  he  enjoys  the  pleasures  which  belong  to  age. 
To  do  good  is  the  happiness  of  the  mature.  It  makes  him  happy  to  extend 
happiness  to  those  about  him.  Whether  he  does  this  by  a  secret  charity, 
by  helping  a  struggling  author  or  an  improvident  artist,  by  cooking  a 
delicious  breakfast  or  ordering  an  inimitable  dinner,  is  all  one  to  Raphael 
Weill.  He  does  these  things  because  by  doing  them  he  is  satisfying  the 
demands  of  friendship.  He  is  expressing  himself  in  the  terms  of  his 
personality.  He  cannot  help  doing  them,  for  he  has  a  genius  for  friendship 
and  there  is  no  kind  of  genius  which  can  be  denied  expression. 


309 


GEORGE  X.  WENDLING 


'T  IS  commonly  believed  that  the  typical  lumberman  can 
talk  nothing-  and  think  nothing  but  lumber.  If  that  be  so 
George  X.  Wendling  is  not  a  typical  lumberman. 

Wendling  can  look  at  a  forest  and  see  more  than  mere 
lumber.  He  can  go  a-cruising  and  find  many  things  besides 
lumber.  He  can  talk  and  think  about  a  lot  of  subjects  that 
have  nothing  to  do  with  lumber.  But  this  doesn't  prevent 
him  from  being  one  of  the  most  expert  and  most  successful 
lumbermen  in  the  State.  He's  been  in  the  business  for  thirty-six  years. 

When  he  talks  lumber — and  of  course  even  a  lumberman  who  is  not 
typical  has  to  talk  lumber  once  in  a  while — he  does  not  scant  the  more 
picturesque  features  of  his  business.  He  sees  poetry  in  lumber  where  the 
typical  lumberman  sees  only  profit. 

"Lumber  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  pursuits  in  the  world,"  says 
George  X.  Wendling.  "The  lumber  business  has  the  spice  of  infinite  variety. 
No  two  trees  are  alike.  No  two  boards  sawed  out  of  any  log  are  exactly 
alike.  There  is  such  a  tremendous  lot  to  be  learned  about  lumber  that  much 
of  it  has  never  been  set  down  in  books.  A  big  lumber  library  wouldn't  begin 
to  exhaust  the  subject.  You  never  know  all  about  lumber  any  more  than 
the  chemist  knows  all  about  chemistry.  And  you  must  learn  lumber  as  the 
chemist  learns  chemistry,  by  working  at  it  with  your  hands.  The  only  way 
to  be  a  lumberman  is  to  put  on  overalls  and  get  out  into  the  timber.  The 
fascination  of  it  is  beyond  all  words.  It  is  a  matter  of  continuous  education. 
It  is  unfolding  new  things  to  you  all  the  time. 

"Romance?  Well,  perhaps  lumber  is  romantic  when  it's  in  the  forest, 
but  when  it  becomes  timber  to  be  bought  and  sold,  it  is  not  romantic.  It  is 
a  cold,  cold  business,  like  shaving  ice.  The  competition  is  so  keen.  There 
has  been  no  fun  in  the  lumber  business  since  the  panic  of  1907.  But  I  love 
the  business  for  its  vicissitudes.  It  calls  for  all  a  man  has  of  energy  to  keep 
up  with  the  other  fellow,  yes  to  shove  the  other  fellow  out  of  the  way.  It's 
a  scrap  all  the  time.  It's  like  life,  just  one  damned  thing  after  another. 

San  Francisco  gets  its  lumber  cheap,  the  reason  being  that  the  city's 
location  makes  it  a  dumping  ground  for  cheap  lumber.  This  has  been  a 
great  boon  to  San  Francisco.  Why,  San  Francisco  has  been  built  with  the 
cheapest  lumber  I  know  of.  But  with  the  Panama  Canal  open  lumber  prices 
here  will  not  rule  so  ridiculously  low.  The  'random  common'  that  is 
accumulating  here  all  the  time  will  go  to  the  better  market  on  the  Atlantic 
Coast,  and  we'll  have  to  bid  higher  to  get  our  supply." 

About  this  point  Wendling's  conversation  threatened  to  become  technical, 
and  I  knew  I  should  never  be  able  to  follow  him  through  the  mazes,  so  I 
switched  the  talk  to  conservation. 

310 


GEORGE    X.    WENDLING 


GEORGE    X.    WENDLING 

George  X.  Wendling  showed  no  surprise  at  my  knowing  that  conserva- 
tion was  one  of  his  pet  subjects.  I  suppose  everybody  who  knows  anything 
about  Wendling  knows  that.  Has  he  not  talked  conservation  for  years?  Has 
he  not  lectured  on  the  subject?  Has  he  not  made  addresses  on  it  at  the 
National  Conservation  Congress?  He  plunged  into  it  gladly,  fluently,  with 
a  firm  grasp  upon  his  ideas. 

"My  views  on  a  certain  kind  of  conservation,"  he  said,  "are  admirably 
summed  up  in  an  apologue  which  Judge  Frank  Short  of  Fresno  (whom  I 
consider  one  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  United  States  today)  used  in  an 
address  delivered  at  the  National  Conservation  Congress  in  St.  Paul,  1910. 
Judge  Short  said  that  Uncle  Sam  was  the  father  of  four  sons,  East,  North, 
South  and  West.  Being  liberal  to  a  fault  and  mindful  of  a  trust,  Uncle  Sam 
has  transferred  to  his  three  elder  sons,  East,  North  and  South,  all  their  share 
in  his  estate.  These  older  sons  begin  to  look  with  covetous  eyes  upon  the 
younger  brother's  inheritance,  especially  after  he  has  begun  to  show  by  his 
industry  the  real  value  of  his  portion.  They  tell  Uncle  Sam  that  he  has  been 
wasteful  in  the  management  of  his  estate.  They  say  to  him :  'You  have 
turned  over  to  us  and  to  our  children  without  needful  restriction  the  whole 
of  what  we  can  rightfully  claim.  In  doing  this  you  have  shown  great 
incompetency  and  have  practiced  many  frauds.  We  can  see  no  way  of 
atoning  for  this  sin  except  that  you  shall  take  and  hold  that  portion  of  the 
estate  that  should  descend  to  our  younger  brother  West,  for  the  benefit  of  all 
your  children.  In  consideration  of  your  doing  this  we  shall  appoint  you  the 
landlord  and  guardian,  without  bonds  and  forever,  of  his  portion.  But  we 
require  you  to  see  to  it  that  we,  your  elder  sons,  shall  receive  from  the  rents, 
leases  and  profits  of  this  portion  our  equal  shares  with  our  beloved  younger 
brother.'  Judge  Short  went  on  to  say  that  Uncle  Sam  seemed  weak  enough 
to  succumb  to  the  influence  of  the  three  elder  brothers  as  against  the  rightful 
claim  of  the  younger  brother  West. 

"In  other  words,  the  East,  North  and  South  have  had  their  share  of  the 
family  pie  and  now  they  want  to  tell  us  what  we  should  do  with  our  share. 
They  will  not  admit  that  the  States  west  of  the  Missouri  River  are  entitled  to 
their  own  natural  resources  and  the  results  thereof.  In  California,  for 
instance,  one-third  of  our  area  is  set  aside  for  forest  reserves.  The  rest  of 
the  country  thinks  that  the  value  of  these  resources  should  find  its  way  to 
the  national  treasury  and  put  no  water  of  consequence  on  the  California 
wheel.  Is  that  just?  I  say  that  it  is  not.  I  take  no  stock  in  this  proposition 
to  deprive  the  present  of  its  natural  resources  and  save  them  all  for  the 
future. 

"In  my  opinion  there  is  no  greater  or  sounder  conservation  than  that 
which  conserves  the  splendid  fortunes  which  the  American  people  are  building 
for  their  children.  Am  I  not  a  true  conservationist  when  I  conserve  the 
fortune  which  I  have  spent  thirty-six  years  in  building  up  so  that  it  may 
descend  to  my  only  daughter?" 

Wendling  swung  his  swivel  chair  toward  the  window  of  his  office  on  the 
top  story  of  the  Flood  Building.  He  waved  an  arm  that  took  in  blocks  and 
blocks  of  tall  stone  and  brick  structures. 

313 


VARIED    TYPES 

"Look  at  that,"  he  said;  "all  built  since  the  fire  of  1906,  all  built  for  the 
children  of  the  future.  Is  it  not  a  wonderful  heritage?  Is  it  not  true  con- 
servation? 

"Civilization  springs  up  in  the  path  of  the  woodman's  ax.  A  city  rises 
where  a  forest  goes  down.  We  need  not  worry  about  our  natural  resources 
provided  we  use  them  judiciously,  sensibly.  The  pioneer,  it  is  true,  is 
wasteful.  That  cannot  be  helped,  and  his  wastefulness  is  more  than  offset 
by  the  benefits  he  confers.  The  pioneer  uses  only  part  of  the  tree  that  falls 
to  his  ax.  But  as  civilization  pushes  its  way  into  the  forest,  transportation 
facilities  allow  the  use  of  the  whole  tree.  Out  of  the  original  seeming 
wastefulness  comes  the  real  economy  that  uses  everything  and  promotes 
prosperity. 

"Consider  for  a  moment  the  devastation  of  the  forests  of  Michigan, 
Wisconsin  and  Minnesota.  If  these  forests  were  standing  in  their  primeval 
naturalness  as  they  had  stood  for  ages  before  they  were  cut  away,  inhabited 
by  the  redman,  the  bear,  wolf  and  other  animals,  that  entire  region,  in  my 
opinion,  would  not  be  worth  one-eighth  of  one  per  cent  of  the  value  of  the 
wonderful  civilization  that  sprang  up  in  the  wake  of  the  forest  that  was  cut 
away.  As  these  forests  were  cut  away  they  made  light,  easily  transportable 
and  cheap  building  materials  that  were  used  for  the  building  of  another 
civilization  in  the  prairie  country  of  Illinois,  Iowa,  Kansas,  Nebraska,  the 
Dakotas,  western  Minnesota  and  later  Oklahoma,  and  a  portion  of  this 
product  found  its  way  further  east  for  the  uses  of  the  growing  civilization 
in  Ohio,  Indiana,  Pennsylvania,  New  York  and  other  eastern  States. 

•'Does  it  seem  right  that  one-third  of  the  area  of  California  should  bear 
signs  of  'Keep  off.  Federal  Property?'  Are  not  we  of  California  better  able 
to  administer  our  estate  than  the  national  government?  I'd  rather  deal  with 
officials  in  Sacramento  who  have  interests  in  common  with  mine  than  the 
arbitrary  power  of  Washington.  A  government  which  is  always  changing  its 
administrative  officers  cannot  deal  with  us  as  we  ought  to  be  dealt  with.  If 
we  had  waited  for  the  government  to  build  the  Union  and  Southern  Pacific 
we'd  still  be  dependent  on  the  Pony  Express.  Look  at  our  city.  In  seven 
years  it  has  been  rebuilt,  but  we  have  as  yet  no  City  Hall.  And  when  the 
City  Hall  is  finally  built  it  will  have  cost  us  from  two  to  five  times  as  much 
as  a  similar  structure  built  by  private  capital.  That's  politics.  If  our  banks 
had  to  change  their  officers  every  four  years  they  would  save  themselves 
trouble  by  going  into  voluntary  liquidation. 

"I'm  the  champion  of  the  individual.  I  think  he  should  have  every 
opportunity  to  utilize  the  resources  which  nature  has  placed  at  his  disposal. 
Let  us  conserve  the  American  man  and  the  American  woman.  Let  us  try  to 
prevent  that  frightful  influx  of  people  representing  the  feculent  sewage  of  the 
decaying  nations  of  the  old  world.  Mixing  these  with  Americans  will  produce 
mongrels,  not  race  character. 

"That  to  my  mind  would  be  true  conservation.  Truer  conservation  indeed 
than  the  political  buncombe  of  so-called  conservation  that  we  get  from  federal 
bureaucrats  located  at  Washington  who  want  to  manage  the  affairs  of  the 
States  through  the  medium  of  political  machines." 

314 


D.  A.  WHITE 


G 


JOHNSON  had  just  signed  the  "red  light  abate- 
ment bill." 

This  measure,  one  of  the  most  vicious  ever  put  upon  the 
statute  books  of  any  State,  had  been  passed,  as  is  pretty  well 
known,  by  legislators  who  disapproved  of  it  but  were  afraid 
to  brook  the  wrath  of  "the  short-haired  women  and  the  long- 
haired men"  who  threatned  them  with  political  ruin  if  they 
voted  against  it. 

The  Governor  had  hesitated  before  signing  it,  hesitated  just  for  a 
moment.  He  had  invited  its  opponents  to  appear  in  his  office  at  Sacramento 
and  state  their  objections.  None  appeared,  so  in  the  presence  of  a  large 
number  of  champions  of  the  measure,  he  affixed  his  signature. 

I  happen  to  know  why  one  opponent  of  the  "red  light  abatement  bill" 
did  not  go  to  Sacramento  to  tell  the  Governor  of  his  stand.  The  opponent 
I  refer  to  is  Chief  of  Police  Gus  White. 

"If  I  went  up  to  Sacramento,"  he  explained  to  me,  "and  told  the  Gov- 
ernor how  I  stood  on  that  bill,  a  lot  of  our  very  charitable  clergymen  in  San 
Francisco,  men  of  the  delectable  Aked  stripe,  would  mount  their  pulpits  and 
declare  that  I  had  been  paid  to  oppose  it.  So  what  was  the  use?" 

What  was  the  use  indeed?  We  are  informed  by  the  Bulletin  which  is 
supposed  to  know  the  Governor's  mind  in  many  matters,  that  the  Governor 
intended  to  sign  it  from  the  first.  So  what  was  the  use  of  the  Chief  of  Police 
in  the  city  which  the  law  will  most  affect  going  out  of  his  way  to  have  his 
objections  overruled  and  getting  himself  denounced  into  the  bargain? 

Probably  other  opponents  of  the  bill  figured  the  matter  out  in  much  the 
same  way.  At  any  rate,  they  were  not  on  hand  when  the  Governor  dipped 
his  trusty  pen  in  ink  and  made  the  bill  law.  Those  present  were  eager  to 
see  the  Iowa  measure  part  of  our  code.  They  were  headed  by  the  Reverend 
Charles  N.  Lathrop  of  this  city.  Among  them  was  the  head  of  the  W.  C.  T. 
U.,  an  organization  which  is  accumulating  a  record  for  the  advocacy  of  de- 
structive legislation.  Witness  their  success  in  abolishing  the  canteen.  The 
W.  C.  T.  U.  president  received  the  pen  with  which  the  measure  was  signed, 
and  doubtless  the  priceless  relic  will  be  adequately  venerated  among  her 
followers. 

The  ink  was  scarcely  dry  on  the  engrossed  copy  of  the  new  law  when  I 
went  to  Chief  of  Police  White  and  asked  him  about  it. 

Chief  of  Police  White  has  been  a  policeman  for  a  comparatively  short 
time,  but  nature  endowed  him  with  the  typical  policeman's  outspokenness.  He 
didn't  mince  words  about  the  "red  light  abatement"  law. 

"I'm  against  it,"  he  told  me.  "Of  course  I  shall  have  to  enforce  it,  but 
I'm  not  in  sympathy  with  it  because  I  believe  that  it's  a  move  backwards. 

315 


VARIED    TYPES 

"If  the  segregation  of  prostitutes  is  the  best  method  of  regulating  the 
social  evil,  and  I  believe  it  is,  then  San  Francisco  at  the  present  time  has  the 
proper  system,  and  this  system  will  be  destroyed  by  this  new  law. 

"Let  us  look  at  this  thing  from  the  police  standpoint.  The  social  evil  is 
with  us  in  spite  of  the  preachers  who  have  thundered  against  it  for  nearly 
two  thousand  years.  I  don't  see  any  signs  of  its  passing  away.  So  the  only 
thing  for  the  police  to  do  is  to  regulate  it,  to  minimize  it  and  to  get  rid  of 
as  many  of  the  evils  that  accompany  it  as  is  humanly  possible. 

"The  'red  light  abatement'  law  will  put  an  end  to  segregation.  By  means 
of  it  the  segregated  district  of  this  city  can  be  wiped  out  in  a  day.  What 
will  be  the  result?  Here  are  the  things  that  will  follow,  as  I  see  them: 

"We  shall  have  streetwalkers. 

"Prostitutes  will  be  scattered  through  the  residence  districts. 

"There  will  be  an  increase  of  white  slaving. 

"There  will  be  a  serious  increase  in  venereal  diseases. 

"The  way  will  be  opened  for  police  graft. 

"There  will  be  increased  corruption  of  boys  and  girls  who  will  be  brought 
into  contact  with  prostitutes  in  the  residence  sections. 

"Let  us  look  these  results  over  and  see  whether  I  have  exaggerated. 

"At  the  present  time  there  is  practically  no  street  walking  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. That  phase  of  the  social  evil  was  gotten  rid  of  several  years  ago.  At 
present  the  police  do  not  arrest  two  street  walkers  a  month,  and  it  is  usually 
found  that  those  few  who  are  taken  in  for  soliciting  in  the  street  are  muddled 
by  too  much  drink.  In  other  words  they  get  drunk  and  forget  that  it  is 
dangerous  for  them  to  ply  their  trade  in  the  streets.  But  when  the  segregated 
district  is  abolished  we  shall  have  street  walkers.  That  is  always  the  result. 
Police  will  tell  you  so  everywhere.  A  lieutenant  of  the  New  York  force  told 
me  that  the  closing  of  the  houses  of  ill  fame  in  New  York  put  ten  thousand 
prostitutes  into  the  streets. 

"We  don't  have  to  go  far  to  know  that  when  segregation  ceases  the 
prostitutes  invade  the  residence  sections.  Look  at  the  experience  of  Los 
Angeles.  We're  sure  to  have  the  same  thing  here. 

"Then  there  is  the  matter  of  white  slaving.  There  is  an  awful  lot  of 
exaggeration  about  white  slaving  in  this  city  at  the  present  time.  There 
can't  be  much  white  slaving  when  the  police  control  the  social  evil  as  they  do 
in  San  Francisco  at  present.  We  know  where  every  prostitute  in  the  city 
plies  her  trade  and  where  she  sleeps.  What  chance  has  the  cadet  when  he 
knows  that  the  white  slave  detail  has  the  unfortunate  women  under  surveil- 
lance every  hour  of  the  day  and  night?  But  under  the  new  law  the  police  will 
lose  all  control  of  the  women.  We  won't  be  able  to  keep  our  eyes  on  them 
when  they  are  scattered  all  over  town.  So  the  white  slaver  is  bound  to 
flourish. 

"Then  there  is  the  very  serious  matter  of  disease.  This  new  law  will 
put  the  Municipal  Clinic  out  of  business  along  with  the  segregated  district. 
Without  segregation  there  can  be  no  Municipal  Clinic.  The  Municipal  Clinic 
is  a  good  thing.  I  have  always  been  in  favor  of  it.  It  is  doing  a  splendid 
work  in  the  prevention  of  disease.  But  with  the  women  walking  the  streets 

316 


D.    A.    WHITE 


D.    A.    WHITE 

or  plying  their  trade  in  the  residence  districts,  there  is  bound  to  be  an  increase 
in  disease.    When  supervision  ends  the  red  plague  will  thrive. 

"The  way  will  be  opened  for  police  graft,  and  this  is  a  very  important 
matter.  When  there  is  a  tolerated  district  why  should  the  women  pay  for 
protection?  They  can  deal  directly  with  the  Chief  of  Police  as  long  as  they 
submit  to  proper  regulation.  But  abolish  the  segregated  district,  scatter  the 
women  all  over  town,  turn  them  into  street  walkers,  and  they  will  be  at  the 
mercy  of  graft.  That  is  what  always  happens.  The  women  pay  somebody 
for  immunity. 

"Finally  we  must  expect  to  find  girls  and  boys  corrupted  when  bad  women 
go  into  the  residence  districts.  Innocent  youngsters  are  bound  to  be  thrown 
into  contact  with  them  sooner  or  later. 

"Let  us  see  how  this  law  will  operate.  It  provides  that  when  anybody 
has  reason  to  believe  that  a  lewd  or  immoral  act  has  been  committed  or  is 
about  to  be  committed  in  any  building  or  place,  he  may  file  an  information 
concerning  his  'reason  to  believe'  and  bring  the  owner  into  court  to  show 
cause  why  his  property  should  not  be  closed  up  for  one  year.  No  bond  is 
required  of  the  person  filing  the  information.  Upon  the  issuance  of  the  in- 
junction the  property  is  sealed  up  for  one  year,  and  the  furniture  may  be  sold. 

"Plainly  that  law  can  be  invoked  against  a  first-class  hotel  just  as  well 
as  against  a  house  of  prostitution.  It  is  a  handy  weapon  for  the  man  with  a 
grudge,  and  the  possibilities  of  blackmail  are  too  apparent  to  need  explaining. 

"Whether  or  no  this  new  law  conflicts  with  the  Charter  remains  to  be 
seen.  I  shall  insist  on  a  test  case  in  order  to  see  whether  its  provisions  must 
be  carried  out.  If  it  is  operative  the  police  must  enforce  it. 

"But  it  looks  as  though  we'll  have  to  have  a  larger  police  force.  With 
the  new  conditions  the  present  force  will  be  inadequate. 

"At  the  present  time  there  are  916  prostitutes  in  this  city.  Of  these  844 
are  white  women,  while  the  rest  are  colored,  Chinese  and  Japanese.  They 
are  distributed  in  115  houses,  most  of  which  are  in  the  segregated  district 
while  a  few  are  in  the  uptown  tenderloin  and  south  of  Market.  All  are  under 
police  supervision.  When  the  evil  is  spread  all  over  town  we  shall  not  be  able 
to  supervise  them,  and  just  to  'vag'  them  will  be- a  task." 

These  figures  are  very  interesting.  They  are  very  different  from  the 
figures  which  some  of  our  uplifters  give  to  shocked  audiences.  Compare 
them  with  the  figures  in  any  city  approximating  the  size  of  San  Francisco, 
and  the  evil  of  our  commercialized  vice  won't  appear  so  awful  as  it  has  been 
represented.  I  said  so  to  the  Chief  of  Police,  and  he  agreed  with  me. 

"But  men  like  Doctor  Aked  don't  want  to  know  the  truth,"  he  said. 
"They  have  made  up  their  minds  to  be  prejudiced  in  advance.  Doctor  Aked 
has  never  come  to  me  to  learn  conditions.  I  never  met  the  man.  But  if  I 
gave  him  those  figures  he'd  insist  that  I  was  concealing  part  of  the  truth  from 
him.  I'm  surprised  that  men  like  Aked  find  people  to  support  them." 
"What  will  you  do  when  the  law  goes  into  effect?" 

"I  think  the  first  thing  to  do  will  be  to  ask  the  Park  Commissioners  to 
cut  down  every  tree  and  shrub  in  Golden  Gate  Park  and  all  the  other  parks 
in  the  city.  Why?  To  prevent  immoral  acts  in  public  places." 

319 


MRS.   LOVELL  WHITE 


RS.  LOVELL  WHITE  is  an  advanced  woman,  but  not  a 
radical.  Her  public  actions  are  regulated  by  principles  that 
give  no  comfort  to  the  shrieking  sisterhood.  Her  conduct  is 
too  nicely  balanced  to  excite  the  admiration  of  professed 
uplifters.  She  would  have  womanly  grace  and  calm  inform 
all  feminine  activities.  She  is  not  the  foe  of  man ;  neither  is 
she  unreasonably  the  champion  of  woman.  For  many  years 
an  ardent  suffragist,  she  is  more  in  love  with  beauty  than 
with  the  ballot.  For  her  sex  she  asks  justice,  not  special  privilege.  Mrs. 
Lovell  White  is  a  woman  who  feels  deeply,  and  thinks  dispassionately  about 
her  feelings. 

Over  those  with  whom  she  is  associated  in  various  praiseworthy  causes 
Mrs.  Lovell  White  is  said  to  exercise  a  most  unusual  influence.  They  defer 
to  her  opinion ;  they  seek  her  guidance ;  they  adopt  her  advice.  She  is  a 
leader  with  a  following  not  blind  but  full  of  trust.  Mrs.  White's  years  are 
venerable,  but  she  receives  much  more  than  veneration  from  those  who  take 
her  counsels.  They  respect  her  mature  judgment  when  serious  questions  are 
to  be  answered;  in  matters  of  sentiment  they  kindle  readily  at  the  flame  of 
her  enthusiasm. 

Some  women  ripen  in  beauty  but  never  in  intelligence.  When  their 
loveliness  fades  they  are  shells  inclosing  nothing  but  frivolity.  This  is  a 
tragedy  of  womankind  about  which  the  less  said  the  better.  Other  more 
fortunate  women  wax  gracefully  alike  in  years  and  mentality.  Decade  after 
decade  they  remain  as  sweet  in  mind  as  in  face.  Youth  and  passion  make 
way  for  gray  hair  and  wisdom.  The  eternal  feminine,  in  such  women,  takes 
on  new  charms  with  age,  while  never  quite  relinquishing  the  earlier  fascina- 
tions and  vivacities.  If  Mrs.  Lovell  White  had  not  been  a  girl  of  sweetness 
she  would  not  be  the  Mrs.  Lovell  White  of  today.  And  if  that  sweet  girl 
had  not  cultivated  more  than  her  beauty,  Mrs.  Lovell  White  would  not  be 
the  influential  leader  she  is. 

"I  have  not  altogether  lost  my  vanity,"  says  Mrs.  Lovell  White.  "And 
that  is  as  it  should  be  with  women,  is  it  not?  A  little  vanity  helps  to  keep  a 
woman  sweet  and  clean. 

"I  am  infatuated  with  this  world.  I  am  always  busy  looking  for  the 
beauty  that  is  about  me.  Unhappiness  requires  leisure,  and  I  have  no  time 
to  be  idle  or  miserable." 

Mrs.  Lovell  White  is  indeed  a  busy  woman.  Most  of  her  business  is 
with  projects  of  beauty.  She  finds  expression  for  her  dearest  longings  in 
the  Outdoor  Art  League  and  in  the  Sempervirens  Club. 

"The  great  problems  of  the  world  are  so  bewildering,"  she  says.  "The 
theories  of  great  men  are  so  puzzling.  After  all,  who  knows  anything  about 

320 


MRS.    LOVELL    WHITE 


MRS.     LOVELL    WHITE 

anything?  I'd  much  rather  confine  myself  to  making  the  world  more 
beautiful.  The  creation  of  a  park  or  playground  does  as  much  good  to  the 
world  as  the  study  of  a  difficult  problem." 

Yet  Mrs.  Lovell  White  does  not  ignore  utility  in  her  absorbing  cultiva- 
tion of  beauty.  Hers  is  too  well  balanced  a  mind  to  tip  one  way.  She  is 
State  president  of  the  Women's  National  Rivers  and  Harbors  Congress.  And 
in  her  clubs  she  touches  hands  with  women  whose  swing  of  action  is  more 
circumscribed.  She  founded  the  California  Club.  She  is  a  member  of  the 
Century  and  of  the  Pacific  Coast  Women's  Press  Association. 

"I  wrote  a  little  once,"  says  Mrs.  White.  "But  that  is  an  art  in  which 
one  can  accomplish  so  little  without  complete  and  exclusive  devotion.  What 
an  artist  Oscar  Wilde  was  in  the  selection  and  use  of  beautiful  words !  I  love 
beautiful  words  as  I  love  flowers." 

There  is  no  passivity  about  Mrs.  Lovell  White's  cult  of  beauty.  She  is 
too  active  by  nature  to  succumb  to  the  temptation  of  the  lotus  eaters.  The 
beautiful  world  is  very  much  with  her  always;  she  would  not  shut  out  any 
of  its  manifestations. 

"I  believe  in  the  spirit  of  the  times,"  she  says.  "It  is  right.  It  spells 
progress.  I  live  in  the  present  and  its  movements,  but  still  I  try  to  look  at 
those  movements  from  the  outside. 

"This  is  the  era  of  woman.  She  has  moved  out  of  chaos  into  the  light, 
and  the  franchise  has  been  her  guide.  For  two  thousand  years  it  has  been 
a  man's  world.  Man  made  the  laws  regulating  the  relations  between  the 
sexes.  Man  told  woman  that  they  were  the  laws  of  God,  but  they  were  not; 
they  were  man's.  It  was  man  who  said  to  woman:  'This  is  a  sin  for  you, 
but  not  for  me.'  Woman  will  no  longer  allow  man  to  frame  one  law  of 
morality  for  her  and  another  for  himself. 

"It  was  that  old  subjection  which  made  woman  so  mysterious  to  man. 
She  was  not  allowed  to  think  straight,  so  her  mind  became  oblique.  She 
sent  her  thoughts  winding  in  and  out;  she  used  devious  ways  to  accomplish 
her  purpose.  Today  she  goes  straight  to  the  point. 

"It  is  no  longer  thought  necessary  for  woman  to  remain  always  within 
her  home.  That  old  domesticity  made  her  small  and  mean.  Man  went  abroad. 
He  saw  the  world.  He  knew  all  phases  of  life.  That  is  why  man  is  superior. 
For  man  is  superior  to  woman.  He  is  a  larger  creature  in  every  way.  But 
that  condition  is  changing. 

"Woman  is  being  emancipated.  Fifty  years  ago  the  breath  of  scandal 
killed  a  woman.  Even  suspicion  was  fatal  to  her.  It  is  not  so  today.  Think 
of  our  changed  attitude  on  divorce.  Divorce  is  no  handicap  to  a  woman  now. 
It  may  be  a  positive  advantage.  And  scandal  does  not  wither  as  it  did.  The 
woman  of  mentality  rises  superior  to  scandal.  Granted  brains,  and  much  is 
forgiven.  The  woman  on  whom  scandal  has  rested  may  stand  on  an  equal 
footing  in  San  Francisco  with  her  untarnished  sisters. 

"Of  course  all  new  things  are  carried  to  extremes.  Even  Nature  overdoes. 
She  overdid  it  when  she  gave  all  the  power  to  man.  Now  she  is  striving  to 
strike  an  average,  and  in  swinging  back  she  will  overdo  it  once  more. 

"If  woman  has  the  opportunity  she  will  deprive  man  of  his  liberty.    For 

323 


VARIED    TYPES 

woman  is  no  better  than  man.  I  have  never  thought  that  woman  would 
purify  politics,  for  instance.  She  will  not  purify  politics.  In  time  she  will 
be  influenced  by  the  same  processes  as  man.  It  was  not  for  the  purpose  of 
bringing  to  bear  her  elevating  influence  that  we  have  demanded  the  ballot 
for  woman.  We  demanded  it  as  a  right. 

"It  is  woman's  era,  and  she  is  centering  discussion  on  questions  that  are 
of  vital  interest  to  her.  The  sex  question  among  others.  Such  discussion  is 
not  immodest.  Christianity  has  crucified  the  body,  has  tended  to  make  its 
passions  the  symptoms  of  guilt  and  shame.  It  subdued  the  body  with  hair 
shirts.  The  very  mystery  of  sex  whetted  the  appetite  of  the  young.  We  are 
getting  back  to  the  Greek  mode  of  thought.  The  Greeks  deified  the  body. 
We  are  creating  a  purer  atmosphere.  Sex  hygiene  is  one  of  the  signs  of  the 
times.  So  is  the  discussion  of  the  social  evil.  Shall  it  be  scattered  or 
segregated?  I  am  one  of  those  who  think  that  evil  should  be  concentrated, 
restricted. 

"These  are  some  of  the  problems  women  are  trying  to  solve.  Much 
will  be  accomplished  by  their  efforts.  The  changes  during  the  past  fifty  years 
have  been  so  great  that  one  cannot  imagine  what  the  next  fifty  years  will 
bring.  Fifty  years  ago  woman  walked  with  a  mince.  Today  she  walks  with 
a  free,  swinging  gait.  Fifty  years  more  and  the  changes  will  be  tremendous. 

"But  I  am  not  wrapped  up  in  these  matters.  I  do  not  believe  in  trying 
to  do  too  much  for  people.  I  have  found  that  the  more  you  do  for  some 
people  the  more  they  slump.  What  we  want  is  sterner  stuff  in  humanity.  It 
is  dangerous  to  coddle  the  inferior  being.  If  we  are  to  have  a  finer  race 
virility  is  the  great  thing. 

"And  woman  cannot  accomplish  all  she  aims  to  accomplish  without  the 
aid  of  man.  In  the  past  man  did  not  make  woman  his  companion  because 
she  did  not  know  as  much  as  he  did.  We  must  get  accustomed  to  our  power. 
Let  us  not  rush  in  and  do  rash  things.  If  we  are  to  take  up  men's  affairs,  let 
us  take  them  up  in  collaboration  with  men.  Let  us  work  together.  By  that 
means  progress  will  be  made." 

Will  some  of  Mrs.  Lovell  White's  sisters  charge  her  with  being  a  shirker? 
They  cannot  do  so  with  justice.  Who  has  undertaken  more  difficult  tasks? 
Just  now  she  has  two  battles,  and  is  waging  them  gallantly.  She  would  save 
the  historic  monuments  of  Laurel  Hill  Cemetery.  And  she  would  save  the 
old  Hall  of  Records.  No  easy  tasks  these,  and  Mrs.  Lovell  White 
knows  it.  But  she  has  a  passion  for  landmarks.  She  would  preserve  the 
continuity  of  history.  Living  and  glorying  in  the  present,  she  yet  respects, 
nay  reverences  the  past.  This  partly  explains  that  secret  of  her  leadership. 
An  intense  humanity  animates  her.  In  her  bosom  warm  sentiment  takes  the 
chill  off  cold  reason.  That  is  why  she  is  not  a  passionless  uplifter;  why  she 
stops  this  side  of  radicalism.  Dowered  with  a  superior  brain,  she  remains  a 
womanly  woman. 


324 


JAMES  WOODS 


'O  CLOSED  town.  A  lid  of  course,  but  a  lid  like  the  lid  of 
Pandora's  box,  letting  out  some  of  the  joys  as  well  as  some 
of  the  glooms;  not  a  lid  tightly  hammered  down  as  the 
smug-faced  Puritans  would  have  it.  No  open  town,  and  yet 
no  closed  town.  That  was  the  policy  James  Woods  an- 
nounced when  Mayor  Rolph  appointed  him  to  the  Police 
Commission  in  January,  1912. 

To  introduce  into  the  conduct  of  the  police  department 
the  methods  which  had  been  so  successful  in  the  conduct  of  his  private 
business,  to  eliminate  all  special  privileges,  to  give  open  way  to  the  liberality 
and  buoyancy  which  are  characteristic  of  San  Francisco  life,  to  encourage 
business  and  to  welcome  and  protect  the  visitor — these  are  some  of  the  aims 
which  James  Woods  cherished  in  taking  his  seat  on  the  Police  Commission. 
James  Woods  modestly  calls  himself  "a  comparative  newcomer"  in  San 
Francisco.  He  may  be  that,  but  there  can  be  no  question  that  during  the 
years  he  has  been  with  us  he  has  become  one  of  our  most  popular,  our  best 
esteemed  citizens.  Many  men  in  many  walks  of  life  are  constantly  coming  in 
contact  with  him,  business  contact  or  social  contact;  yet  how  many  will 
you  find  who  do  not  like  him?  Very  few,  I  fancy.  Personally  I  have  found 
none.  He  took  his  place  on  the  Police  Commission  fortified  with  widespread 
good  will.  H 

As  a  manager  of  big  hotels  in  New  York,  New  Orleans  and  San  Fran- 
cisco James  Woods  has  been  brought  into  close  relations  with  the  police. 
A  big  hotel  is  almost  constantly  in  need  of  special  police  protection.  When 
a  President,  a  high  official  of  the  army  or  navy  or  a  foreign  diplomat  stops 
at  a  hotel,  the  police  are  invariably  called  upon  to  assist  in  safeguarding  his 
visit.  So  it  is  natural  that  the  manager  of  a  big  hotel  should  know  more 
than  most  other  private  citizens  about  the  efficiency  or  lack  of  efficiency 
of  the  police  department.  Undoubtedly  Mayor  Rolph  had  that  fact  in  mind 
when  he  asked  James  Woods  to  become  a  Police  Commissioner.  But  he  had 
something  else  in  mind  too.  In  the  letter  announcing  Woods'  appointment 
Mayor  Rolph  said :  "His  capacity  for  organization  and  his  tact,  which  is  one 
of  his  marked  characteristics,  will  enable  him  to  do  excellent  work  for  San 
Francisco  in  the  development  of  our  police  department.  With  the  approach 
of  the  exposition  the  importance  of  the  police  department  steadily  increases — 
not  only  for  the  maintenance  of  law  and  order  and  the  detection  of  crime, 
but  in  the  matter  of  courtesy  to  our  own  citizens  and  to  the  visitors  within 
our  gates." 

"I  feel  that  it  is  a  great  honor  to  serve  as  a  commissioner  under  Mayor 
Rolph,"  said  Woods  when  I  asked  him  about  his  plans  of  public  ministration, 
"and  I  think  that  I  know  what  Mayor  Rolph  expected  of  me  when  he  made 

325 


VARIED     TYPES 

the  appointment.  I  think  that  he  wants  to  avoid  extremes  in  the  administra- 
tion of  the  Police  Department,  and  that  will  be  my  aim  too.  I  think  that  he 
wants  neither  an  open  town  nor  a  closed  town;  that  he  wants  liberality  with 
decency,  with  honesty  and  absolutely  without  discrimination.  That  last  is, 
I  think,  a  strong  point.  We  must  extend  no  privilege — and  by  privilege  I 
do  not  of  course  mean  anything  that  is  illegal — we  must  extend  no  privilege 
to  one  which  is  not  extended  to  all  others. 

"I  think  that  Mayor  Rolph  wants  me  to  do  for  the  city  what  I  have 
done  for  the  St.  Francis  Hotel.  In  my  management  of  this  hotel  I  have 
insisted  on  respectability.  I  have  encouraged  life,  liberality,  buoyancy,  but 
all  must  be  respectable.  For  my  work  here  I  have  received  both  praise  and 
condemnation.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  condemnation  has  been  sincere,  but 
invariably  when  I  have  investigated  I  have  found  that  the  adverse  criticism 
has  come  from  people  who  have  never  been  in  the  hotel.  When  anything  has 
happened  which  called  for  punishment,  it  has  been  my  rule  to  act  promptly 
and  to  make  the  punishment  commensurate  with  the  offense.  That  it  seems 
to  me  is  a  good  rule  for  the  administration  of  the  police  department. 

"We  must  encourage  life  in  San  Francisco.  We  must  encourage 
business.  Above  all  things  we  must  make  the  stranger  welcome  and  protect 
him.  Especially  must  we  protect  women  who  are  traveling  alone. 

"I  am  absolutely  opposed  to  an  open  town.  And  I  am  absolutely  opposed 
to  a  closed  town.  I  don't  know  which  is  the  worse.  But  I  love  the  Bohemian 
spirit  of  San  Francisco.  Bohemian  is  a  word  which  appeals  to  me  when  it  is 
used  in  the  right  sense.  We  have  a  spirit  of  broadness,  of  liberality  here 
which  is  good.  It  has  helped  to  make  this  one  of  the  most  attractive  cities 
of  the  world.  I  can  say  this  because  I  am  a  comparative  newcomer  here.  I 
have  seen  most  of  the  big  cities  of  the  world,  and  I  am  constantly  coming  in 
contact  with  world  travelers  who  say  the  same  thing. 

"We  have  had  a  great  deal  of  agitation  about  the  evils  and  the  immoral- 
ities of  San  Francisco  in  the  newspapers,  in  the  clubs  and  in  the  various  civic 
associations.  I  think  that  is  a  mistake.  There  is  no  more  evil  here  than 
elsewhere.  Even  if  there  were  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  agitate  about  it. 
But  as  a  matter  of  fact  there  is  a  great  deal  less  apparent  evil  in  San  Fran- 
cisco than  there  is  in  New  York,  Chicago,  London,  Paris  and  Berlin.  In 
those  cities  evil  is  flaunted  on  the  streets.  The  painted  streetwalker  is 
greatly  in  evidence.  You  never  see  anything  of  the  sort  here.  Life,  Bohem- 
ianism,  the  things  which  people  love  to  see,  yes ;  but  the  other  things  never." 

Getting  down  to  particulars,  I  asked  Woods  about  this  and  that  detail  of 
police  administration,  but  he  was  cautious  about  committing  himself. 

"It  is  all  new  to  me,"  he  explained;  "I  must  go  to  school." 

As  to  the  tenderloin? 

"Eventually,"  he  said,  "that  will  all  land  in  one  section  of  the  city. 
That  is  the  proper  way  to  handle  that  problem.  That  is  the  way  it  is  handled 
in  New  Orleans."  This  was  before  the  enactment  of  the  Redlight  Law. 

I  mentioned  as  one  of  the  anomalies  of  our  police  administration  the 
toleration  of  the  white  lotteries.  I  pointed  out  that  while  they  are  absolutely 
illegal  they  haven't  been  molested  by  the  police  for  years. 

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JAMES    WOODS 


JAMES    WOODS 

"That  will  be  work  for  the  future,"  said  Woods. 

Interesting  work,  I  should  say,  and  to  be  watched  with  interest  by  the 
curious.  Administrations  have  come  and  administrations  have  gone,  but  the 
lotteries  have  continued  on,  serene  and  undisturbed,  collecting  the  silver  of 
the  easy-marks  and  paying  their  tribute  of  advertising  to  the  newspapers. 
Have  at  them,  Commissioner  Woods,  have  at  them ! 

As  to  the  condition  of  the  police  department,  the  new  commissioner 
spoke  cheerfully. 

"I  have  come  into  contact  with  a  great  many  members  of  the  force  from 
chiefs  and  captains  down  to  patrolmen,"  he  said.  "There  is  a  great  deal  of 
good  material  in  the  San  Francisco  police  department.  It  compares  favor- 
ably with  the  police  department  of  New  York  as  I  knew  it.  I  think  the  force 
should  be  larger,  and  that  will  come  in  time.  The  traffic  squad  on  Market 
street  is  an  excellent  thing.  It  should  be  enlarged  to  take  in  other  streets  as 
well,  and  surely  will  be  in  time.  I  think  too  that  it  might  be  well  if  we  had 
inspectors  of  police  here.  In  New  York  under  the  police  system  that  I  knew 
there  were  four  inspectors.  Each  had  one-fourth  of  the  city  for  his  territory. 
That  might  be  a  good  thing  here.  Each  inspector  would  have  two  or  more 
captains  under  him. 

"But  above  all  it  is  essential  that  we  should  have  a  harmonious  board; 
a  board  whose  members  are  harmonious  and  which  is  in  harmony  as  a  whole 
with  the  chief  of  police  and  with  the  Mayor.  And  it  is  essential  that  the  chief 
of  police  should  be  in  harmony  with  the  Mayor.  I  think  that  we  are  going  to 
have  that.  I  sincerely  hope  so." 

A  hope,  it  is  needless  to  add,  in  which  every  good  San  Franciscan  joins 
Police  Commissioner  Woods. 


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